Never trust an Elf
by annarien
Summary: What if the Arkenstone were, in fact, a Silmaril? The lure of the Arkenstone and its origin seem to indicate as much. Where there is a Silmaril, the House of Fëanor will not be far behind. This only serves to make Thorin Oakenshield's quest to reclaim his home and treasure much more complicated. AU scenario wich includes First Age reborn Elves. First part of three.
1. Chapter 1

1.

Bilbo desperately needed a breath of fresh air. In fact, it had become a matter of life and death to step outside and away from the noisy Dwarves, from their talk of dragons and funeral arrangements. Bilbo had never felt more suffocated his whole life… and in his own Hobbit hole, of all places!

He slipped away, leaning against the walls as he groped for his front door, taking one deep breath after another and struggling to steady himself. Bilbo glanced behind himself nervously, dearly hoping that nobody had noticed his escape. Fortune seemed with him, for once throughout the miserable affair, and Bilbo pulled the door open as quietly as he could. He shuffled outside and leaned against the solid wood, muttering under his breath as he recalled Gandalf's sign on his freshly painted door.

"Confusticate and bebother meddlesome wizards," Bilbo grumbled, shivering into the cool night air. But he welcomed it, for it was clear of smoke, and commotion and the reek of traveling Dwarves.

It was then that Bilbo heard a soft rustle and caught movement with the corner of his eye. His head snapped to his right and Bilbo's eyes widened as they fell on several… shapes! Three of them, large and wrapped in what seemed to be grey cloaks, were huddled together on his bench, hoods pulled low and obscuring their faces. Another two cloaked figures leaned against each side of Bilbo's window, shifting only slightly when the Hobbit's frightened eyes espied them. Near the little fence that separated Bilbo's property from the road, two more cloaks sat down on the grass, long legs folded beneath them. Their heads turned when Bilbo gasped, but the hobbit could not make out the features beneath their wide hoods.

Feeling even fainter than he'd been when desperately trying to escape the Dwarves, Bilbo slumped against his door.

"Oh, save me… what now?" he whimpered. Those shapes… they didn't look like Dwarves, they were far too tall, but what were Big People doing, skulking outside his home in the middle of the night? What more ill news had Gandalf brought upon him?!

As the hobbit tried to work up some courage and say something, yet another cloaked figure appeared, materializing around the curve of Bilbo's home without so much as a whisper in the grass. It came closer and closer, looming tall before the poor hobbit, much bigger than anything on legs Bilbo had ever seen. The hobbit's heart nearly came to a halt as the shape blotted out all the starlight and moonlight, something moving beneath the cloak that covered it from head to toe.

Then, long-fingered hands surfaced and the figure pulled down its hood. To Bilbo's immense relief and surprise, the smiling face he saw belonged to an Elf. An Elf!

"Good evening, Master Baggins," the Elf bowed, his crown of dark hair shimmering faintly as he moved. Bright eyes shone in the fairest face Bilbo had ever seen, when the Elf looked upon him again. "Our apologies for giving you a fright," he added, his voice deep but soft and hesitant. He seemed to pick his words with some difficulty, as through the Common Tongue were not entirely common to him.

Bilbo inhaled and exhaled deeply, eyes darting to the other figures that moved toward him. He struggled to collect his wits and find his voice, mind racing to find a reason why so many of the Fair Folk were gathered on his doorstep.

"It's quite…," Bilbo began, somewhat encouraged by the friendly smile the Elf before him wore. "Quite… unexpected," he trailed off as the others came to stand all around him and removed their hoods. Similar smiles and eyes crinkled at the corners greeted the Hobbit as his eyes darted from one otherworldly face to the other. Bilbo had encountered Elves passing through the Shire in his time and had even conversed with some of them, but the Fair Folk standing before him were unlike any Elves he had ever seen.

"Please forgive us for not announcing ourselves," one of them said, nodding briefly. "We have espied your other… guests as they arrived and we thought you have had enough newcomers for one evening," the Elf explained with somewhat more ease in his words than the first one.

"Your home appears to be quite… taken over," the tallest in the Elven company observed. "I don't suppose there is anymore room at the table… or anything left to dine on," his smile broadened. "And, no offense meant to your lovely home, Mr. Baggins, but I doubt any of us would fit properly in it."

An involuntary chuckle left Bilbo's lips as he stared at the impossibly long figure of the Elf, topped off by what seemed to be dark-red hair.

"Ah, well… I suppose…" the Hobbit stammered. He cringed as a particularly loud round of shouting ran through his home and gave the Elves an apologetic look. "Perhaps I could salvage some wine if you…"

Bilbo didn't quite finish his invitation when the door behind him moved and he stumbled, groping for purchase. One of the Elves immediately knelt and steadied him, nodding and then looking up. Bilbo followed his gaze and saw Gandalf slipping past him.

"Olórin," the Elf who had addressed him first spoke to the wizard, calling him by a name Bilbo had never heard before. To his surprise, Gandalf bowed to the Elf, then stepped forward and embraced him.

Bilbo heard the fair-haired Elf at his side chuckling softly. For a few moments, the Hobbit was quite forgotten, left to watch Gandalf greeting all the Elves and exchanging words with them in what sounded like the High Elven Tongue. It was a relief to learn that they were High Elves and appeared to be good friends of the wizard, but that did not explain why they were all gathered before his door. Initial surprise subsiding somewhat, Bilbo cleared his voice and meant to at least ask after their names, if not the purpose of their visit.

"Aaah, but we are being rude to our host," Gandalf turned toward the Hobbit. It may have been the way starlight fell on his face or merely Bilbo's imagination, but the wizard appeared as though many hundreds of years had fallen from his face. Then, he smiled broadly and all the old wrinkles were exactly in place. "As you all know, this is the honorable and respectable Mr. Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf motioned with a wide sweep of his arm.

"We are pleased to meet you," one of the Elves said and they all bowed as one.

"And I you," Bilbo remembered his manners and returned the greeting. But he still didn't have their names and would not be able to refrain from asking them for much longer.

"I am Curufinwë," the Elf closest to Gandalf introduced himself.

"And I," one of the other Elves stepped forward and upon seeing his face better, Bilbo concluded that he and the other bore some kind of relation to each other. Perhaps they were brothers, but had he understood correctly and they had the same name?

"I am Canafinwë and this is my brother, Maitimo."

The two Elves in question nodded and Bilbo began to see that ALL of them seemed to have similar features. And the names… the names rang a bell in his memory. But it was only a distant sound and Bilbo had already had too much excitement for one night to give the inkling much thought.

"Carnistir."

"Tyelkormo," the fair-haired one said.

"And Ambarussa," the last of the Elves introduced themselves, again by one name and leaving Bilbo even more puzzled. He wished for more light and meant to invite the Elves inside, even if they were quite right in saying they would have to stoop.

"Forgive me, my dear Bilbo, I had meant to tell you that we are expecting more company, but with all the commotion inside…," Gandalf paused when yet more Dwarven carousing made itself heard. "I'm afraid it has quite slipped my mind. And I did not think that the Elves would be joining us before sunrise."

"We have been here for a while but thought it wise to observe the… rest of the company," Curufinwë - the first to have named himself thus - told the wizard.

"Quite a colorful gathering," Tyelkormo observed with a grin.

"We feel sorry for the state of your pantry," Maitimo added. "And we would hardly wish to impose on you even more."

"But I could use a drink," someone said. Bilbo didn't quite catch who it was, his poor head already spinning as he tried to match their faces with the names they had given. And still, he did not know what they were doing there.

"Uh… by all means, please do come inside and…," Bilbo wobbled once more as the door behind him was yanked open to someone's impatient growling.

"Gandalf, where have you and that dratted Hobbit slipped off to? What… what is the meaning of this?!" the voice faltered, giving Bilbo enough time to glance at Thorin Oakenshield and notice his countenance darkening.

Shrinking away from the Dwarf and disliking his menacing posture even more than before, Bilbo tried to say something, but Thorin's growl cut him short.

"Who are these people? What are they doing here? Gandalf!" he demanded, frowning deeply and groping for his sword. Fortunately, the Dwarves had surrendered their gear as they arrived. It lay in a pile where Bilbo himself had dropped it out of the way and Thorin had no weapon to brandish before the Elves.

Gandalf sighed and Bilbo tensed, giving the newcomers a wary look. He saw the blond one shaking his head and smiling, while the ones at his sides scowled and smirked respectively. But Curufinwë stepped forward, his expression welcoming in spite of Thorin's harsh words.

"You must be Thorin Oakenshield. I am Curufiwë and these are my sons," the Elf said. "At your service," he lowered his head and the others did likewise, although Bilbo could see their expressions did not quite match that of their father.

Their father… Seven sons? Bilbo counted them quickly and again, he felt as though something poked the surface of his memories. But again, he could not pursue that thought, all but jumping out of his skin when Thorin answered.

"I have no need for the service of Elves! Gandalf, I do not believe you had the liberty to make our business known to everyone that crossed your path! One Hobbit was bad enough," Thorin ground out, making Bilbo flinch at the contempt in his voice. "But a whole band of Elves?!"

"Your business, Master Dwarf…" Curufinwë began, his own voice acquiring an edge that Bilbo did not find very friendly. But Gandalf placed a hand on his shoulder quickly and eyed the Elf pointedly.

"Your business is your own," one of his sons said in his place, the very tall one, Maitimo, if Bilbo had caught his name correctly. "Although it might coincide with our business, up to a point. Or so Olórin… Or so Gandalf has told us."

"There is a dragon to slay," the fair-haired one cut in. "That is one beast I have not yet added to my trophy list," he examined his nails as he spoke, almost as if he purposed to slay the dragon with his bare hands.

"And what would you know of dragons?" Thorin glared at the impudent Elf, taking insult in his words and Bilbo wasn't entirely sure insult had not been directed at the angry Dwarf, albeit subtly.

"I know enough," Tyelkormo replied nonchalantly. As his brother nudged him, he too decided to say no more.

"Perhaps it would be best to go inside and discuss this in a civil manner, not quarrel like beggars at the door?" Gandalf suggested.

"I have nothing to discuss with them," Thorin hissed.

"No, of course you do not. But I do and when we are finished discussing, I do believe you will change your mind."

The wizard and the Dwarf stared at each other for a long moment, making Bilbo shift uncomfortably. He gave the Elves an apologetic look and took some comfort in their encouraging smiles. But they were still on the doorstep, finally drawing the attention of the other Dwarves. Bilbo heard them trudging down the hall and a sinking feeling washed over him. Things could go very bad, very fast and there he was, caught in the middle of it.

* * *

**A/N: Names of Fëanorian Elves given in Quenya and the more familiar Sindarin counterparts**

**Fëanáro Curufinwë = Fëanor**

**Nelyafinwë Maitimo = Maedhros**

**Canafinwë Makalaurë = Maglor**

**Turkafinwë Tyelkormo = Celegorm**

**Morifinwë Carnistir = Caranthir**

**Curufinwë Atarinkë = Curufin**

**Pityafinwë Ambarussa = Amrod**

**Telufinwë Ambarussa = Amras**

**Also, Olórin = Gandalf's name in Valinor.**


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Nursing a cup of chamomile tea that Dori had given him, Bilbo tried to sink into the nook he'd found refuge in and have a moment of peace. Just one moment, but it was not to be. One of the Elves found him and lowered himself on the floor, tossing back his decidedly red hair as he made himself comfortable.

"May I share a moment of quiet with you?" he said, enunciating each word carefully.

Bilbo shrugged inwardly and nodded. Ambarussa… one of the twins, he concluded. Better lighting and a closer look had revealed to him that two of the Elven brothers were almost identical. As was their name. Or names… Bilbo felt a headache coming on just thinking about that.

"We are sorry for the… commotion," the Elf gestured toward the dining room, where a noisy debate was still going on, with Elven voices thrown in the mix.

"As am I," Bilbo muttered before he could catch himself. He eyed his companion apologetically, but the Elf didn't seem to take any offense. "I'm glad the meeting hasn't come to blows."

"As am I," Ambarussa smiled and Blibo felt no small amount of embarrassment dusting his cheeks red. "Although, I'm still not sure father and Maitimo can reason with these Dwarves."

As if to underline his words, Dwalin's voice rose above the din and Bilbo cringed. He could not understand the words, but it wasn't hard to guess they weren't compliments addressed to any Elf at the table.

"I don't think they want us on this quest of theirs," Ambarussa observed. If anything, he seemed rather amused by the whole predicament, which confused Bilbo even further.

"I don't quite understand why anyone would want to join them on their quest, to be honest."

"Well… it's a long story," the Elf replied.

Bilbo took a sip of his drink and eyed his companion expectantly. Usually, when someone began with "it's a long story", the long story tended to follow, but Ambarussa seemed content to wrap his arms around his knees and rest his chin on them.

"You don't seem very eager to set off on this adventure," the Elf said instead.

"Ah, well," Bilbo coughed. "That's not… I'm not exactly sure what Gandalf was thinking when he suggested I should be the burglar of this expedition but… he certainly has the wrong Hobbit for the job. In fact, no Hobbit that I know of, at least not one in his right mind, would find himself fit for this kind of job. A burglar?!" Bilbo sputtered indignantly. He knew he was ranting and before an Elf, at that, but it was only a small strange matter in a whole world of strange matters befalling him of late.

"Not a task for an honest and respectable person, no," Ambarussa seemed to agree.

"Most certainly not. All this business about treasure and dragons is not for Hobbits of the Shire, I'm afraid. Not when it means sneaking in to do dishonest work and risk turning into a pile of ash while at it. No, thank you very much."

The Elf merely nodded.

"Did Gandalf really call on you to go and slay the dragon?" Bilbo still could not quite get his mind around the idea. Of course, the tales he knew were full of Elven warriors who battled foul beasts and conquered them, but still, for someone to volunteer facing a dragon… it made very little sense to the poor Hobbit.

"Yes, he did. Although… we are not… what did the Dwarf call us? Sell-swords?"

"Ah… I feel I must apologize for that," Bilbo grimaced, recalling the choice words that Thorin Oakenshield had hurled at the Elves. When it came to insults, it appeared as though the King in exile had a limitless supply.

"No, you must not. The… animosity?" Ambarussa hesitated. "If that is the proper word for it… the animosity is not a welcome we did not expect. Dwarves are… well, Dwarves," he shrugged.

"Have you dealt with Dwarves before?"

"No… not much. Not since…," the Elf faltered. "Not for a long while. Carnistir knows them better and he has warned us. No worries. One way or another, we will come to an agreement and your home should not be under siege for much longer."

"That is not… that would be welcome," Bilbo admitted, mirroring the Elf's understanding smile. "Although, I would be loathe to see you leave. Very much. I am very pleased to have met you and very grieved by the state of my house. This is not how I've imagined I would welcome Elves into my home."

"It is fine, Master Hobbit. Gandalf said you would be a very polite fellow and so you are. Perhaps we will stay a bit longer if…"

Both Bilbo and Ambarussa were startled by the muttering and heavy footfalls of someone approaching them. Bilbo expected a Dwarf but instead, Tyelkormo stomped toward them, angry and stooping to avoid hitting the rafters. That only served to annoy him more. He saw his brother and began to talk in rapid-fire Elvish, waving his hands to emphasize his point.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ambarussa replied. "This may take a while," he turned to the Hobbit. "I'm afraid father is having a more difficult time persuading the Dwarves than he imagined."

"Obstinate fools. They don't know what they're turning their bulky noses up at," Tyelkormo grumbled. "I have a mind to…"

"You have a mind to stay right here and keep your big mount shut," one of Tyelkormo's brothers joined them, giving the angry Elf a forbidding look.

Bilbo groped for his name but it didn't come to him and so, the Hobbit resolved to observe the brothers quietly.

"I've met many uncouth, reckless bastards in my life, but I swear, if that angry midget calls my father a gold-digger one more time, I will… I will be… very angry," Tyelkormo finished lamely, withering a little under his brother's even more forbidding glare.

"I don't like this anymore than you do, but there's no need to add to the tension. We didn't come here to fight them or force them."

"But Káno…," the blond protested, finally giving Bilbo a clue as to what his brother was called.

The Hobbit could not agree more, there was absolutely no need for tempers to flare and turn his home into a proper battlefield. He didn't like the pile of weapons that the Elves had set aside anymore than he appreciated the Dwarvish iron and if any of those arms were put to use, it would be terrible. Perhaps even Gandalf could not stop something unspeakable from happening.

He was just about to address his fears when "DO YOU WANT ME TO SWEAR AN OATH ON IT?!" boomed though the house. Bilbo nearly dropped his cup and he saw all three Elves before him stiffen. Ambarussa sprang to his feet and a moment later, the three brothers had vanished in the direction of their father's angry voice. Bilbo rushed after them, shoulders slumped and heart thundering with new dread.

"THERE WILL BE NO OATH SWEARING!" Gandalf boomed in reply and for a moment, the room seemed to darken. Bilbo believed that it was merely him growing faint once more, but when the shadows fell away, everyone at the table was silent and bewildered.

"Please sit," Gandalf pressed Curufinwë back in his seat, although the Elf simpered with anger and sitting meant folding his limbs into an uncomfortable position.

Equally uncomfortable but less infuriated, his son gave the Dwarves at his side an apologetic look. Bilbo saw the youngest of them avert their eyes and Dori offered a placating expression, but at the head of the table, Thorin Oakenshield seemed no less angry. He glared at the Elf he'd been arguing with, daring him to say more.

"Swear if you will," he ground out after a tense moment silence. "But I still do not believe it. You say you do not want anything in return for your aid, but I have never known anyone to put their lives on the line and demand no reward."

"I do not need any reward," Curufinwë sighed. "I have told you, Thorin Oakenshield, I do not need treasure and least of all any treasure of yours," he could not refrain from letting loose the barb.

Bilbo cringed and expected Thorin to burst, but the Dwarf held himself in check by some miracle.

"What do you want, then? If it is not treasure, then what?"

"I… We have a much higher purpose for being here than treasure. My sons and I have a debt to pay, but it is not in gold and jewels that we must pay it. Aiding you and your people, showing you that Elves are not all selfish cowards will be but the beginning of this payment."

Puzzled, like almost everyone around him, Bilbo searched Gandalf's face. If the wizard knew anything, he kept it to himself and his expression gave nothing away.

"I do not understand," Thorin spoke for all of them.

"And it is best that you do not," Curufinwë replied, rising to his feet and striking his head against the ceiling of Bilbo's dining-room. He cursed under his breath and stalked away, amid some Dwarven snickering and Gandalf's tired groan. Maitimo went after him, gently brushing Bilbo out of the way.

"Well, that could have been worse," Bofur broke the awkward silence, shrugging as he met Bilbo's eyes.

"Indeed. I now have not one unbelievably stubborn Dwarf to manage, but also an unbelievably stubborn Elf."

"I do not envy you your position," Canafinwë told the wizard, startling Bilbo. He had forgotten there were still Elves nearby.

"Indeed not," the wizard muttered.

"Will one of you tell me what in Mahal's name is going on?" Thorin turned in his seat and glared at the Elves behind him. "Who are you, what do you want and why should I believe you when you appear out of the blue to offer me help I neither asked for nor have any need of?"

"When you ask questions in that manner, I fear it is best that we refrain from answering," Tyelkormo replied sharply.

"Brother…," Canafinwë warned.

As for poor Bilbo, he found it uncomfortable enough to strain his neck while looking back and forth between the arguing people. Not to mention anything of the arguing that seemed to go on forever. It was very late, he was tired and very much unsettled and he began to wonder if the intruders in his house would ever stop bickering, much less go away and let him be.

"That is quite enough for one night," Gandalf cut in. "Our host is tired and I am incredibly fed up with the stiff necks of both Dwarves and Elves. Enough of this, we should retire for the night."

Bilbo could not disguise the relief he felt, nor hold back the grateful look in his eyes when Gandalf smiled at him. But, of course, Thorin disagreed.

"How can you mention sleep when there is so much to speak of? I cannot rest until I solve the riddle of these damned Elves and find out what they are here for. This is all your fault, Gandalf. I am beginning to doubt the wisdom in trusting you."

"Be that as it may, I will sleep and so will you. I know that both Elves and Dwarves could be at each other's throats for ages, but neither of us needs that now. Sleep on this. The morning is always a better advisor."

Thorin rested his hands on the table with a dull thump, very clearly avoiding several hopeful looks directed at him. He muttered something in his own tongue, rubbed his forehead and finally relented.

Bilbo breathed a rather loud sigh of relief, but with that panic swept him anew. He had a house full of Dwarves and Elves and only three spare beds to offer them. Four, if he included his own and that seemed like a most miserable thought. Frowning deeply, he covered his mouth with one hand and began to back out of the room, wracking his brain as to what he could do and what to build make-shift beds out of. Thus preoccupied, Bilbo hardly noticed he'd stepped on someone's toes, before that someone chuckled softly and knelt at his side.

"I believe I know what worries you now, Mr. Baggins. But there is no need for it. We will sleep outside," Tyelkormo told him. "I believe my brothers are already making arrangements for it."

"You are most certainly not going to…," Bilbo sputtered. "I could never… absolutely not! I cannot possibly leave my guests sleeping at the door!"

"But we will not be sleeping at the door. Rather, we shall camp on your roof," the Elf smiled. "There simply isn't any room for us inside, unless we should take the floors. I do believe the grass on your lovely Hobbit hole is much softer. The night is warm and fair. I can't think of a better place to be than beneath the stars. No offense to the comfort and hospitality of your house meant, of course."

At that, Bilbo felt quite unable to argue. The Elf had a point and none of the Dwarves at his table voiced any protests either. Perhaps it was for the best to see them separated, if only by one wooden door.

"We shall be singing a few songs before we rest, perhaps you would like to join us? After you make all the necessary arrangements, of course," Canafinwë gestured toward the Dwarves.

Bilbo wanted to and he nodded in agreement, but it was long before he finished the arrangements in question and by then, he was practically sleeping on his feet. He collapsed in his favorite sitting chair (which he had liberated from a pile of Dwarvish paraphernalia) and thought he could hear a clear voice singing something very slow and sad as it lulled him to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

When Bilbo opened his eyes, he had to squint and shield them against the shaft of light that fell on him through the open window. He had not the faintest clue as to why he had woken in his armchair. He rose and shook his limbs, some of which had remained asleep longer than he. Then, it all came back. The whole sprawling nightmare. Bilbo shuddered and rubbed his arms, looking about in a daze.

"Good morning, Mr. Baggins" a cheerful voice made Bilbo nearly jump out of his skin.

He turned toward it and saw Bofur sat with his back against the wall, just beneath the window. A mug rested by his side and his pipe let out a thin line of smoke that smelled very inviting. Bilbo blinked, rubbed his eyes and groaned inwardly. So, it had not been just a dream. But the kind face before him and the nice Dwarf it belonged to did not deserve to hear any sarcasm on the matter.

"Good morning, Bofur," Bilbo said. As he did so his eye fell on the small table beside his armchair and the plate of food set on it. There were sliced cheeses on it, and smoked ham and some cherry tomatoes, butter and raspberry jam, slices of bread that looked as though they were still warn and a small pitcher of cream. And, to top it all off, a cup of tea steamed on the side.

"Uh… thank you," Bilbo sat back down, sniffing the food with interest. "It's very kind of you," he said to Bofur. He felt a twinge of guilt for having slept so long and thus neglected his duties as a host, but then… the Dwarves had practically invaded his home and plundered it. Perhaps they owed him a little breakfast, although where in the house they'd found the means to provide it was a bit of a mystery.

"Oh, that'll be the Elves," Bofur puffed on his pipe.

"Pardon?"

"Breakfast. The Elves brought it. When we woke up, there was food on the table just like this. And tea, and fresh bread and… I've no idea when that happened. Must have sneaked in while we were asleep."

"Hmm?" Bilbo blinked. "Can't be, I was here all the time. They can't have slipped past me…"

"I do believe they can. They're Elves, that's what they do," Bofur smiled whimsically, sending a big puff of some right out the window.

"Where are they?" Bilbo sat up, looking left and right in a way that his Dwarven companion seemed to find quite funny. "Are they gone?"

"No, rest easy, lad. They're outside. They said the reek of our smoking is more than they can bear. Pah, what do they know?" Bofur rolled his eyes and took a deep drag out of his pipe.

"Oh," Bilbo sank back in his seat, more relieved than he could say, not without insulting the friendly Dwarf before him, anyway.

"Eat. You'll not be wanting to put their effort to waste."

It was good advice and Bilbo took it eagerly, although as he ate, he questioned Bofur about what had happened as he slept.

"Well… there was breakfast and I don't recall Thorin turning his nose up at it, even if he knew the Elves had prepared it," Bofur said, making Bilbo chuckle and choke on a bit of food. "And now there is talking again."

"No more fighting, I hope."

"None that I know of. True, the Elves have not come inside again. Galdalf and Thorin and Balin and Dwalin are closeted in your study and they've been there for almost an hour now. Although… if you ask me, I don't know what's to debate so much. I think these Elves are fine fellows. They have weapons like I've never seen before and where we're going, we'll need all the strong arms we can get. But of course, nobody's asking me, so…," Bofur trailed off, busying himself with his pipe once more.

"If anybody were asking me, I'd say the same."

But of course, nobody was asking him either and so, the Hobbit went about the task of eating. Bofur seemed quite content to leave him to it and, as Bilbo turned to his tea, he wondered how the whole affair would end. He hadn't said yes or no, all important matters had been set aside as Gandalf had sent them all to bed, but he would soon have to decide. And, the more Bilbo thought about it, the less inclined he felt to go gallivanting on some mad, hopeless adventure.

He almost said as much to Bofur, but just then, voices rang through the house and Bilbo recognized Gandalf's among them. He sat up and meant to greet the wizard properly, when Thorin and Dwalin thundered past him, making for the front door with barely a nod.

"'Morning, laddie," Balin greeted him instead.

Gandalf acknowledged him briefly and sped after Thorin. Bilbo could tell that something unpleasant was going to happen and he rushed after them, his tea forgotten and Balin's greeting unanswered.

On his front lawn, Bilbo found the Elves almost the same way as the night before. Some were crowded around his bench and some sat on the lawn. They appeared a lot less sinister in the light of day, cloaks set aside and the sun shining on their fair faces. They all turned their heads toward the door when Thorin stepped outside, Gandalf at his heels.

"Ah, Gandalf, we thought your private council would never end," Curufinwë said, leaving his place by Bilbo's mailbox and walking toward the house.

Bilbo meant to thank him and his sons for breakfast, but the thought fled him when Thorin addressed the Elves.

"We have talked and we have come to a decision," he said solemnly. His tone told Bilbo that nothing good would follow.

"You mean you have come to a decision that I do not condone in any way," Gandalf added, confirming the Hobbit's fear.

"All the same, it is decided," Thorin replied. "Thank you for the meal you have provided," he said and Bilbo thought it was with great difficulty that he brought himself to say the words. "It is appreciated, as is your offer to aid us on our quest. But I do not know who you are, even if you have given us your names. Nor can I guess what your purpose is. This matter of needing to pay some debt, it does not ring well in my ears. Even if my heart did not warn me about Elves in general, still I would not trust such an important thing to strangers who meddle in my business and claim they do so for the sake of helping me alone. That is very noble, but also, I believe, a lie."

Bilbo shifted uneasily and eyed the Elves with concern. Surely they would not respond well to being called liars.

"Believe what you will, Dwarf," the fair-haired of the Elven brothers ground out. Much to Bilbo's dismay, he could see the Elf's hand tightening on the hilt of the sword he'd strapped to his side once more.

His father, however, responded with nothing more than a thin smile.

"You state your reasons clearly, Master Dwarf. And with little restraint for courtesy's sake. But so be it. We shall be on our way, then," he held Gandalf's eye for a moment, before turning to his sons and motioning them to join him.

Bilbo heard the wizard sigh and his own heart sank. How utterly foolish those Dwarves were! Neither pride nor prejudice nor any kind of long-festering grudge could justify what Thorin Oakenshield was doing in the Hobbit's eye.

He watched the Elves wrapping themselves in their long cloaks and pulling on their deep hoods, in spite of the rising heat. They were filing through his front gate and when Tyelkormo turned to wave him farewell, Bilbo simply could not let them leave like that.

"Wait! Please wait," he shouted and rushed after the Elves, various mutterings at his back spurring him on. "Please don't leave!" Bilbo all but hung on the blond's cloak, looking up into the Elf's smiling face.

"I am sorry, my friend, but we cannot stay. You have heard the Dwarf's wish."

"Yes, I know, but… it is madness!"

"That it may be. However…"

"Walk with me, Bilbo Baggins," Curufinwë called from the front of the group.

Nudged gently by Tyelkormo, Bilbo scurried past his brothers and reached their father with some trepidation. Curufinwë threw a fold of his cloak over the Hobbit's shoulder and guided him slowly down the path that led to Bagshot Row. To his surprise, Bilbo felt immediately cooler, screened from the late morning sun by the Elvish cloak. Some magic was at work there and Bilbo wanted inquire about it. But he would never learn anything if he could not persuade the Elves to stay.

"I am so sorry about that… that miserable business," he began, glancing back at his house.

"Please, Elf friend, you most certainly should not beg pardon for the uncouth behavior of others. Worry not, we expected no less. Gandalf has warned us that we will be anything but welcome in our offer. Still, he thought we should try and we have."

"I can't believe anyone would be so foolish as to…"

"Thorin Oakenshield is not foolish. Stubborn and proud, yes. But caution warns him and I do not blame him for that. In his place, I would probably feel and say the same. But no matter. Tell me, Bilbo, have you decided what to do? Will you be the burglar of this… colorful band of adventurers?"

Bilbo's eyes searched the Elf's face, feeling very small under his scrutiny, but also encouraged.

"To be honest, my Lord…"

"Curufinwë. I am the lord of nothing and no one. Or 'friend', if you please. That would honor me," the Elf interrupted, making Bilbo stop and shift uncertainly on the balls of his feet.

"Uh… my friend," Bilbo stuttered. "I have not decided anything. I don't suppose I have to. Ever since they landed on my doorstep unannounced and unwanted, those Dwarves have given me absolutely no reason why I should quit my home and risk what looks to be certain death for their treasure. And now, seeing how you have been dismissed, well… that settles it. I will send them on their merry way before the day is done. Sir… uh, lord Curufinwë? You… think otherwise?" Bilbo peered at the Elf's sudden frown.

"Indeed I do," Curufinwë chuckled at Bilbo's crestfallen look. "Why, just because they do not want us to tag along, doesn't mean you should not. In fact, let me be perfectly honest with you, Bilbo. Even though they have a wizard with them, the Dwarves are bound to run into trouble sooner or later. Gandalf has far more important business to see to than the babysitting of that rabble. He may not always be with them and they will need someone of intelligence on their quest. It has become all too clear to me as I conversed with them… or rather, tried to. Gandalf believes that you are just the person for that job. I am not talking about being a burglar, you would be the eyes and the ears and the common sense of this fellowship," the Elf emphasized his last words, giving Bilbo a pointed look.

"But… you are saying that I should…?" Bilbo felt faint and even unhappier than a few moments before.

"You should go on this adventure."

The Hobbit fetched a deep sigh and suddenly took great interest in the dust beneath his toes.

"I can understand why you do not wish to leave your home. And I am certain that there will be many times when you will not appreciate my advice too much. All the same, I believe you should come on this journey."

For a few moments, Bilbo said nothing. His unseeing eyes skipped over the green hills of his homeland and the poor Hobbit felt very burdened. The comforting hand on his shoulder did little to alleviate his fears and as he pondered his decisions, Bilbo found they were not few. But then, his mind latched onto something surprising that the Elf had said.

"I'm sorry… I thought you said I should 'come' on this adventure. Not go on it, but… come?"

Curufinwë startled Bilbo as he knelt before him and there was an unmistakable glint in his grey eyes. The Elf had a secretive smile on his face as he leaned closer, speaking in a hushed voice.

"Good catch and quick thinking on your part, Master Hobbit. That is indeed what I said and if you're wondering what the meaning of it is… then I must confess. The Dwarves have sent us on our way but what they do not know is that our way and theirs happen to coincide. We will be accompanying them on their quest whether they say yes or no. And we will be there to keep an eye on a certain adventurous Hobbit, even if he will not always have signs of it."

Bilbo gapped and cocked his head at the smiling Elf. Then, his own mouth stretched into a grin.

"Does knowing that ease your mind somewhat, my friend?" Curufinwë asked him.

"Yes. Quite. Indeed it does. But what about his grumpy Majesty?"

"As for his grumpy Majesty, I have not yet come across Man, Elf or Vala that could tell me what to do and especially what not to do. A Dwarf will certainly not be the first to accomplish it. We shall set out before you and make sure that the roads are safe. Once we step out of the Shire, watchfulness will be of the utmost import. But, for a while and for peace of mind in the Dwarven company, perhaps this should remain between us."

As the Elf eyed him expectantly, Bilbo found himself nodding. He would never forgive himself if he failed all the faith Gandalf and the Elves seemed to have in him. The Took part of him urged Bilbo to fetch his walking stick and join the Elves on the spot. But the common sense Curufinwë had praised prevailed, and Bilbo bid his fair new friends farewell, wondering how he would manage to tell no one that they'd promised him a new meeting in a few days' time.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I am unashamedly in love with Fili as portrayed in 'An Unexpected Journey'. This might become apparent as the story progresses. :D**

4.

Five days after leaving the comforts of his beloved home, Bilbo still bemoaned the lack of pocket handkerchiefs. His allergy to horse hair hadn't subsided, nor did his spine feel any less determined to stop drilling a new hole in his skull as he tottered in the saddle. There hadn't been any mention of ponies in that damned contract (and Bilbo had read every little bit of fine-print!). However, as the official burglar of Thorin Oakenshield's company, Bilbo had little choice but to travel like a Dwarf (although, hopefully, he would not be expected to mimic their table manners or start smelling like them anytime soon). He already bemoaned the foolishness of his Tookish ancestry, but while the company passed through the Shire, at least Bilbo could enjoy the trip.

Yet, as the first day of May drew toward noon, they were moving further and further away from Bilbo's last familiar boundary. Buckland lay behind them in a shimmering haze and before them, the Great East Road stretched as far as the eye could see. Bilbo's first taste of the 'world ahead', as Gandalf was so fond of calling it, was marked by a double line of trees and thick undergrowth on each side of the road. He'd never been to Bree, but Bilbo recalled the straight line that lead toward it from the Brandywine Bridge, as it was marked on many of his maps. But blast it all, he'd forgotten to pack any of them! Gandalf would have to be their guide and they'd have to make do with the maps in his wizened head.

They'd been going along at a pleasant pace (or unpleasant, if Bilbo looked to the head of their company and saw Thorin's permanent scowl) for some hours, when the most peculiar thing happened. Bilbo, who usually rode last and usually had Gandalf or Bofur as company, thought he'd caught some movement in the bushes on his left. Not only movement, but also a flash of orange.

He pulled on the reins and brought his pony to a tottering halt, eyes on the rustling undergrowth.

"What is it, Bilbo?" the wizard asked him. "What's the matter?"

"I thought I saw a… Look!"

Bilbo pointed toward the side of the road and there, a fox was climbing from the ditch, crossing the road slowly and fixing them with its beady eyes. There would have been nothing strange about it, if the fox didn't stop in the middle of the road just a few paces away from them. It dropped a walnut from its jaws, sat down on its hind legs and eyed the travelers intently.

"That's a funny thing for a fox to do…" someone behind Bilbo muttered.

The whole company had halted and, predictably, Thorin yelled "What are we stopping now for?!" But the fox did not flinch. It just sat there primly, looking at Bilbo expectantly.

"What do you suppose…?" the Hobbit began, but his jaw dropped when the fox shook its head and pushed the walnut with its paw, almost as if it were showing it to Bilbo. "Is it trying to tell us something?"

"I do believe it is," Gandalf slid off his horse and approached the peculiar little beast. He picked up the walnut, petted the fox and almost immediately, it scurried away into the brambles on other side of the road.

"Now that was queer," Bofur said, riding to Bilbo's side.

"Why would a fox…? Hmm…," Gandalf murmured to himself, turning the walnut in his hands. Bilbo saw the two halves part and Gandalf brought his hands closer to his eyes. "Aaah… I see," the wizard smiled in his beard.

"What do you see? What was all that about, Gandalf?"

By way of answer, Gandalf came to him and gave Bilbo the walnut, along with a pointed look. Bilbo examined the two halves and found that they were hollow… except for a tiny piece of paper tucked inside one of them. Bilbo opened his mouth to ask about it and felt Gandalf's fingers squeezing his leg. He frowned instead and tried to read the minuscule script on the paper.

'_At the Pony in Bree, say CRANBERRY to the owner' _

Puzzled, Bilbo looked to Gandalf for some kind of clarification, but the wizard shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't look at me, Bilbo Baggins, I have no idea why a fox would offer us a spoiled walnut," he said.

Bilbo felt the wizard's grip tighten for a moment and then it dawned upon him. The Elves! Gandalf patted his leg and smiled very briefly, turning to a grumbling Thorin Oakenshield who had ridden back to investigate what the matter was.

The Elves! They had promised Bilbo they'd not be too far ahead and surely the message came from them. Perhaps they were waiting for the company at the famous Prancing Pony in Bree. There was a cheerful thought and Bilbo could not hold back a smile.

"A spoiled walnut, eh?" Bofur leaned closer to Bilbo, eying his hands suspiciously.

"Ah… yes. Very queer. I've never seen anything like that my whole life," Bilbo closed his fingers and gave the Dwarf as innocent and bewildered a look as he could manage.

"Alright. Alright, lad. Keep yer secrets, you and the wizard both," Bofur shook his head. But he was smiling and tugging on one of his quirky braids as he rode away from Bilbo.

The Hobbit's spirits plummeted somewhat when Thorin spared him a reproachful look, scoffing about foxes and crazy wizards and lazy Hobbits. But, after they had resumed their ride, Gandalf leaned precariously on the back of his horse and whispered to Bilbo: "Animals will listen to Tyelkormo and do his bidding. I do believe we have something interesting to look forward when we get to Bree."

And so it was. Three days later, when the company rode into Bree with the setting sun (and a downpour at their backs), they found they were not at all unexpected. The Prancing Pony's innkeeper welcomed them with many smiles and no need for explanations. He assigned his round-cheeked son Barliman to make sure that the company lacked for nothing.

To their astonishment (and Thorin's mounting suspicion), lodgings for all of them had been prepared in advance and their ponies were unsaddled and unpacked immediately. Before the confused Dwarves had finished removing their wet cloaks, they'd been ushered in a private dining room and Barliman was ringing the bell for dinner.

"What is the meaning of this?" Thorin demanded of Gandalf, pointing around the room, to the long, low table. "How did they know about our coming and even the number of our company?"

"It is not unusual for news to pass between the Shire and Bree."

"But we've encountered nobody on the road, Gandalf. Was it you? Did you send messages ahead for these… arrangements?"

Bilbo espied this exchange with some trepidation, unsure if Gandalf would give away their true benefactors. But the wizard shrugged and smiled, seemingly willing to take the blame. That was a relief…

Suddenly, Bilbo recalled the password on the tiny piece of paper still tucked inside his pocket. He walked up to Barliman and tugged on his sleeve.

"May I do something for you, Master Hobbit?" the young man offered.

"Perhaps. Some… friends of ours might have passed through Bree and stayed here a few days ago."

"Ah, yes! The…"

"Them, yes!" Bilbo shushed the man as discretely as he could. "I've been told to pass a message from them to you. Well, more of a word than a message. _Cranberry_."

At that, the lad straightened and nodded energetically.

"Certainly. Right away, sir."

Before Bilbo could inquire into it, Barliman had vanished through the dining-room door. Scratching his still damp hair, Bilbo sought Gandalf's eyes. But the wizard had little to say beside advising Bilbo to take off his coat and make himself comfortable at the table.

A few minutes later, the innkeeper knocked on the door, nodding approvingly when he saw the company all seated around the table. He stepped out of the way and let in a veritable procession. Six maids and boys brought with them trays and pots and pans and bottles and even a sizable keg of ale. Under the innkeeper's proud but stern gaze, his staff made the trip three times, leaving not a corner of the table uncovered. They left a _feast_ before the astonished eyes of their guests.

There were more types of cheeses than Bilbo could count. Smoked meat and cooked meat, pork, beef, lamb, roasted chicken, stew, gravy, fresh baked bread, greens and a number of pies that Bilbo could not identify by smell alone. The whole company stared in awe at the culinary feast they hadn't ordered, but welcomed more than could be said with words.

Bowls of clear water were set beside each guest and Bilbo chuckled to himself at the contrary look they received. Some of the Dwarves had already started to dig in, as he washed his hands and dried them on a napkin the girl at his side provided. Closest to him, Fili gave Bilbo a long look and shrugged, but he imitated the Hobbit, taking off his gauntlets and cleaning his hands. Kili would have scoffed, but Bilbo heard him 'ooomph!' instead, presumably kicked by his brother under the table. 'Good lads!' Bilbo nodded approvingly, as both brothers were nice and clean... or at least their hands were.

"I trust everything is to your liking," the innkeeper said. "Enjoy your meal and ring the bell if you need anything. We shall return with desert."

Assorted groans and grunts and some cheerful words added in the mix were the man's thanks. Before long, all of them had foregone small talk in favor of eating. And drinking. And reminding Bilbo about the nightmare at Bag End. But thankfully, it was not his pantry being raided, nor his cellar plundered.

The Hobbit placed a little bit of everything on his large plate and helped himself to a glass of wine. He was cutting his meat into bite-size portion when he caught Fili doing the same. Bilbo saw the young Dwarf eying him intently and picking up a piece of meat with his fork precisely as Bilbo had done it. Except, the gesture seemed positively dainty, coming from the Dwarf.

Bilbo chewed his food and saw Fili doing the same. He picked up a grilled tomato and sliced it in half, blowing on the steaming mouthful. Fili was unnervingly mimicking his every move.

"Beg your pardon, but… what are you doing?" he turned to the Dwarf.

Fili set his cutlery down and smiled innocently.

"Eating, Master Bagging. Although… I suppose I'm not doing it right."

'No, you're not, you people scarf your food down like every meal might be your last…' Bilbo groaned inwardly.

"I'm not exactly sure how you get your fill by mincing your food this way," Fili pointed to his plate where he'd cut everything to bits. "But… I am trying to be a bit more… civilized, if you will."

Kili groaned, rolled his eyes and tipped back a huge tankard in reply to his brother's attempts at being civilized.

"Oh," Bilbo suddenly felt bad for glaring at his companion. "That's… well, you don't have to do everything I do. I can understand how you might not slate your hunger the same way I do."

"Well, you are very small," Fili observed with a smile that Bilbo was beginning to think nobody in the wide world had any arguments against.

"You can be bigger and still have some table manners," Bilbo discretely pointed to the other end of the table, where Gandalf wasn't making a mess of himself and… wonder of all wonders, neither was Thorin.

"We're supposed to mind our manners, actually. As uncle's heirs, we never know what folk we might run into. Best learn not to offend them, even unintentionally," Fili picked up his fork and resumed eating. "My apologies, Master Baggins, I shall try not to stare at you anymore."

"It's quite alright," Bilbo stammered, meaning to compliment the young Dwarf on his good intentions, but the table exploded with laughter and his voice never made it through the din.

Much to Bilbo's secret amusement, after the sorry remains of the feast had been removed, Barliman returned with the most enormous cranberry pie Bilbo had ever seen. With fresh whipped cream on the side. Gandalf outright laughed when a large helping was set on his plate and his bright eyes all but said 'our friends have outdone themselves' to Bilbo.

It was only much, much later, when the Dwarves drowsed, laid back in their chairs and shrouded in smoke, that it occurred to anyone at the table to ask who would pay for everything.

"Um… Mister Gandalf, I don't suppose the good innkeeper has mentioned anything about the costs of his excellent accommodations?" Oin inquired, fiddling with his earpiece as he eyed Gandalf for an answer.

"I would not worry about that, my friend. It's all been taken care of."

"We shall find means to repay you for your kindness," Thorin intervened.

"Oh, it's not me you must thank for all of this. I do believe those Elves you sent away so unceremoniously have passed through here and had everything readied for us."

Thorin gagged on his mouthful of smoke and expelled it in a loud burst.

"WHAT?!"

Gandalf merely shrugged, chuckling in his beard.

"You knew about it and said nothing?!"

"Thoring Oakenshield, do NOT turn your nose up at hospitality when it's offered freely! It'll be weeks before you have a meal like this again, under a solid roof and at your leisure."

Thorin frowned darkly and downed a glass of wine to soothe his throat.

"Fine!" he grumbled, throwing back his chair. "Fine. But to bed now, all of you. We leave tomorrow, at first light."

"We leave after breakfast and replenishing our supplies and giving Butterbur a proper thanks for his hospitality," Gandalf declared.

As many times before, Thorin and Gandalf had their little silent stare-down and, as many times before, Thorin conceded, annoyed huff and all. Bilbo was beginning to find it tiresome, but at least it didn't have to be him at the end of Thorin's fierce glare.

"Fine!" Thorin set his glass on the table with a clink that meant ill news for its integrity and stalked off. "I am going to bed. You'd best do the same."

There wasn't much enthusiasm in following him, not at first. But gradually, the Dwarves began to retreat, collecting their items from wherever they'd dropped them. Bilbo didn't feel much like calling it a night, and drew up the smoking of his pipe as long as he could. In the end, it was Fili who motioned him out of his reverie, telling the Hobbit that he would be left alone in a minute.

"Then… I suppose I should also retire," Bilbo nodded absently.

"It would be wise. Thorin will keep at least part of his word and rouse us at dawn."

"Hmph."

"Tell me, Master Baggins, did you also know about… your tall, pointy-eared friends and this party they've set up for us?"

"Well…," Bilbo searched the Dwarf's smile and found nothing unfriendly in it. "Maybe."

"Hahaha, so I thought. You've been entirely too pleased with yourself ever since we've ridden past the gate. And now the incident with the fox that Bofur was on about makes more sense."

Bilbo shifted from one foot to the other, wondering how to tell the clever Dwarf (who also happened to be Thorin's kinsman!) that he should perhaps keep his clever conclusions to himself .

"It'll not be the last we've heard of the pointy ears, will it?" Fili's eyes narrowed, but again, his dimpled smile belied any fears Bilbo might have had.

"I hope not," the Hobbit found himself admitting. "Just…"

"Don't tell Thorin, I know. I won't. But he's not as dense as he is grumpy. He will have guessed that no self-respecting Elf will take orders from a Dwarf, king or otherwise. We might be in for a bumpier ride than we expect, once we set out into the wild."

Surprised by Fili's choice of words and his candid assessment of their situation, Bilbo could do nothing but raise his eyebrows in a hopeful look. It made the young Dwarf laugh and clap Bilbo's shoulder, guiding him toward the rooms they'd been given to for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

5.

The heavy pack on Bilbo's back began to feel heavier and heavier and his head drooped beneath the merciless beat of endless rain. He envied the Dwarves their heavy cloaks and hoods, although neither of them seemed better off than he was.

They were plodding along the Road, dispirited ponies picking their path among potholes filled with murky water. I had been raining since mid-morning and, in Gandalf's wise words, _it would continue to rain until the rain was done_. That was small comfort to a sodden and disgruntled company, but Thorin showed no signs of stopping and making camp would come only after nightfall.

The company had left Bree on May the fifth, themselves, their ponies and another pair of sturdy little beasts packed with supplies. After the night's festivities, the prospect of weeks and weeks in the wild, with nothing to eat but what he could carry, didn't sound particularly pleasing to the Hobbit. In fact, he longed for home and muttered against his Tookishness as soon as they set out.

From dawn until long after dusk, they rode along the road, meaning to follow it east for as long as it coincided with the direction they meant to advance in. Bilbo had caught something about the High Pass in Thorin's counsels with Gandalf, but he had little to no clue as to where the place was. But a high pass meant mountains… great mountains, such as the Hobbit had never seen before.

The road had begun to curve gently to the south and Gandalf said they should all be very thankful for that, because it skirted the Midgewater marshes, leaving them well to the north. A terrible place to be in, especially as summer approached. Already a dank smell wafted on the wind when it turned south as they began their third day away from Bree. Whatever reeked that way was better left undiscovered and unexplored, Bilbo thought with a shudder.

However, the rain gave them enough trouble, refusing to relent until the sun sank behind the western horizon. Then, as the first stars began to twinkle high above, Thorin finally called a halt. They were to step off the road and find a suitable camping place, which would prove difficult as everything around them had been soaked thoroughly.

Fili and Kili had dismounted and run off on the left side of the road, scouting for some remotely dry area. Before long, the youngest of the brothers gave a shout and called the rest of the company to follow him.

"You're not gonna believe this," he panted, taking the reins of his pony and leading it through the grassland. "Careful, the ground begins to slope downwards here. We found a little hollow in the hill, right at the bottom. I think it's man-made. No bigger than two Dwarves could fit in. But the best part is… we found dry wood."

Indeed there was dry wood, a considerable pile of it, as the rest of the company discovered. They made camp at the bottom of the little dell, quite sheltered from the wind and finding that the ponies had enough to nibble on. They threw down their packs and Gloin inspected the firewood, hand over his beard-covered chin.

"This is fresh cut. Can't be more than a day old," he picked up a split branch. "Wasn't no ax that cut it either."

"What do you mean?" Thorin said as he joined him.

"Look at the smooth cut," Gloin gave Thorin the piece of wood, running his finger along the smooth end. "I'll be damned if this wasn't done by a sword, although I can't imagine who would use a sword to…"

Thorin threw the wood on top of the pile and hissed something unintelligible. It was all Bilbo could do to keep himself from snickering. But to his credit, he held it back admirably.

"Get the fire going already!" Thorin grumbled. "And hurry up with the food, we're hungry," he said as he trudged past Bombur and into the hollow Kili had described.

Feeling quite sorry for the poor Bombur, Bilbo joined him and Bofur, helping them to whip up a stew before their mighty leader found something else to complain about.

…

The following evening, a remarkably similar scene played itself out. Kili came back with news of yet more dry wood being set aside in a sheltered place and, beside it, a whole barrel of cold, clean water. That night, Thorin set both brothers to guard their surroundings and sat up for the longest time himself, scanning their surroundings suspiciously.

On May the ninth, just below the brambles on the Road's southern side, the Dwarves found camp all but set out for them already. By then, it was clear that they were being followed and watched closely and although it did not sit well with some of them, their hidden company was not unfriendly. At least it knew just when and where to pick the best camping spots.

Beneath the pile of neatly cut fire-wood, Oin found that the Elves had dug a pit in the ground and in it, they'd left behind four skinned rabbits, wrapped up in strange leaves and sprinkled with a variety of herbs.

"I wonder when they have time to spy on us, chop wood, hunt and marinate our food…," Fili laughed, only to be silenced by a deathly glare.

Thorin did not find any of it amusing, although even he had to admit the dratted Elves were making their journey a lot easier. And the cooked rabbit he ate that night was nothing to turn his nose up at either.

As he sat close to Gandalf and watched the wizard blowing rings of smoke above their heads, Bilbo wondered where their unseen benefactors were hiding.

"Have you seen any sign of them? I mean, except the food and everything?" he whispered.

"I have not. But I must say, this affair is beginning to look more and more ridiculous," the wizard shook his head.

"Mmm," Bilbo agreed. "It's a shame we can't all… Wait, Gandalf! You don't suppose they can hear us now do you?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if they could. And I daresay we'd be none the wiser if they did. There have never been greater hunters than at least three of those Elves."

Gandalf's observation was met with great concern and more than a little displeasure. The Dwarves shifted uneasily, peering into the darkness beyond the circle of their fire.

"Kili! Fili! Look around," Thorin motioned his nephews to patrol their immediate vicinity, much to their chagrin.

Again, Bilbo had to bite his lip hard to keep from laughing at the absurdity of it all, when Fili rolled his eyes as he walked past him.

…

The following evening, nothing but fresh water in the barrel that the Elves stole back each night could be found. The cat and mouse game had begun to amuse most members of their company as they speculated what was in store for them next. Still, they found it more than a bit unnerving when the morning came and with it, there were round-shaped leaves full of wild berries by each of their heads. Balin, the last to take watch before dawn, swore he'd seen and heard nothing and most certainly had not fallen asleep during his watch.

Thorin cursed Elves and their foul magic, striking his fist into the pile of berries meant for him. The mess made his hand look bloody but gave the Dwarf no satisfaction and, for an insane second, Bilbo thought he was going to start licking bits off his huge fist. At that, Bilbo turned on his heels, scurried off and howled with laughter, knowing that it would make him seem quite mad. Somehow, that made the Hobbit laugh all the harder.

…

They'd left the marshes behind them and the weather decided to work in the company's favor. The day was clear, a pleasant breeze rustled in the grasses and their spirits were altogether quite high, even Bilbo's. Then, a rustle caught his attention and Gandalf motioned them all to a halt. Something was moving through the grasses at great speed, just on the edge of sight. There was a flutter, something jumped, then fell back with a squawk.

"Was that a bird?" Bilbo shielded his eyes, peering uncertainly into the distance.

"Could have been," Gandalf shrugged.

They remained still and silent for a little while, but nothing else happened. Thorin motioned them to move, riding past Gandalf with an inquiring look.

"I think our friends might be hunting supper for us," the wizard said, earning himself an exasperated groan for his trouble. But the rest of the company found it amusing to take wagers as to what kind of bird they would eat that evening and how best to cook it.

It turned out to be pheasant. Two big birds, one of them still warm when Fili came back with the news and began collecting his well earned coins.

…

As they continued their ride eastward along the road, Bilbo saw the land beginning to change in the distance. The dark shapes of barren hills loomed on both sides of the road, looking especially ominous as they rode to meet them. Gandalf pointed out northward and toward a hill that stood out from the others even at three days' riding distance. It stood out from the range and had a flattened head that seemed to be crowned with pointy teeth. It was only as they got closer that Bilbo could see the teeth in question were, in fact, the ruins of an old tower.

That night, the wind picked up, whispering through the grasses. There had been no trace of camp set by the Elves, they'd left absolutely nothing, which Bilbo found rather worrisome. Still, they had their supplies and the Hobbit was growing rather fond of Bombur's excellent cooking.

They all sat around the fire and listened to Gandalf's tale about Weathertop and the great watchtower of Amon-Sûl. It was Kili who saw the first spark of light among the ruins.

"Look!" he pulled Bilbo's sleeve and pointed toward the hill. "Can you see the lights?"

Bilbo squinted and yes, there they were, little flicks of light that might have been a fire.

"Do you suppose it's _them_? " the young Dwarf whispered.

"I don't know. But if it is, they're quite ahead of us. That would explain the lack of dinner."

"Bilbo Baggins, a little pampering and you start to believe that Elves have nothing better to do than keep you fed," Gandalf said. But there was laughter in his eyes and Bilbo merely puffed on his pipe in reply.

…

Whether the Elves had been on Weathertop or not, at least one of them had stayed behind to hear complaints about no dinner. The following night, drawing well toward the middle of May, the company was 'pampered' once again. They'd given up any hope of it, agreeing that their stalkers had tired of the game and moved on, when, out of the blue (or rather, the darkness) an improvised tray of cooked venison appeared.

Dwalin nearly stepped in it while on his way to retrieve his pipe from the pile of luggage. Cursing colorfully, he peered under a cover of woven long-grass and found his nose poking into a very delicious smell.

"Bless my beard!" he shouted. "Lads, you've gotta look at this!"

Everyone thronged around the pile of sliced meat, assessing the size of it and whether it'd be enough for all of them or not. Out of the circle, Bilbo searched the night for the Elf who had managed to slip by them so utterly unseen and unheard. Yet again…

"Where are you?! Show yourself!" Thorin bellowed, likewise scanning their surroundings.

He was answered with a muffled chuckle and Bilbo cringed, waiting for the explosion of Dwarven curses. But Thorin merely sighed and shook his head.

"This is getting beyond ridiculous," Bilbo heard him mutter. "Next thing, they'll be chewing our bloody food for us."

Nothing stirred in the night beyond them and Bilbo wanted to shout 'Thank you!'. It was the least he could do and, if he recalled correctly, nobody had thanked the Elves for their trouble yet. But he also felt Thorin's withering gaze on him and, with a sigh of his own, Bilbo joined the crowd. Perhaps the best thanks he could give was to make sure he'd have a slice of venison to taste for himself.

…

Weathertop loomed larger and more intimidating as each hour passed. Bilbo hoped that neither Gandalf nor Thorin had any ideas of climbing the steep slopes and trying to make camp among the ruins. True, it was said that the hill commanded the widest view of the lands anyone could wish for, but the place had a forbidding look about it that the Hobbit had no wish to challenge. Not even when Fili and Kili began to speculate on whether they could find food left by the Elves up there.

There had been a distinct lack of that. The night before and that evening as well, after they halted just beneath the roots of the great hill.

"You don't think we're finally rid of their spying and laughing at us, do you?" Thorin asked the wizard, as they shared first watch.

"I think… Master Dwarf, that Elves are not as willing to chew your food for you as you would believe them."

Wrapped in his cloak, his back to both Dwarf and Wizard, Bilbo could hear the sarcasm in Gandal's voice clearly.

"Hn," Thorin replied. "If they're gone, I say good riddance."

Just then, almost as if it were waiting to spite the disgruntled Dwarf, a clear voice broke the silence and launched itself into song above their heads. Bilbo sat up, eyes wide, peering into the darkness. It sounded like the song came from the top of the hill, although there were no longer lights up there.

The only ones left snoring were Oin and Bombur, quite undisturbed by the commotion around them. All the others rose, blinking confusedly and then lapsing into open-mouthed silence. The voice floating down toward them was unlike anything any of them had ever heard. Soft but strong, loud, but more gentle than the caress of water on bare skin. And beautiful beyond belief.

Although the words were in a tongue none save Gandalf seemed to understand, each and every one of them was stirred to tears and a hollow ache bloomed deep inside them.

"What… is that?" Kili whispered, eyes big and round in his face.

"I've never… what is he singing?" Dori shivered, pulling his blanket tight around himself.

"It's so… sad," Fili shook his head, huddling closer to his brother as though he were seeking comfort from his closeness.

"Gandalf… make it stop!" Dwalin moaned from the edge of camp. "I can't stand it!"

But the wizard said nothing. His eyes had clouded over and he sat transfixed, so much as Bilbo could see in the fading light of their fire. As for himself, he wished he had someone to hold onto, as the unbelievably sad voice washed over him. It was haunting and gut-wrenching and Bilbo swallowed painfully, looking about himself with wounded eyes.

To his immense gratitude, Bilbo felt Kili shuffling toward him and his brother came on his other side. They both huddled protectively around the surprised Hobbit, throwing their blankets over him and pressing against him with urgency.

"This better stop soon," Fili murmured.

"I think I'm going to cry," Kili all but sniffled.

Between them, Bilbo closed his eyes, but it was no good. The Elven voice seemed to rise and soar above them, singing about something deeper and darker and more filled with woe than Bilbo thought his heart could take.

"Gandalf! Gandalf, please…," Bilbo heard Thorin's deep voice wavering. "Please make him stop. I can't…"

"I'm afraid this song is just beginning," Gandalf sighed deeply.

"What is he singing? I've never heard anything so fair and terrible my whole life," Thorin whispered coarsely.

But Gandalf would not say. For long, torturous moments, they harkened to the haunting music and trembled beneath it. Just as Bilbo felt his heart would break, the singer drew out a deep note and fell silent.

It was long before they found sleep again that night.

* * *

**A/N: The story description says humor/drama. For the time being, it seems to be more humor than drama, but the two parties need to warm up to each other and that's not going to happen overnight. Not with this bunch of characters. **

**I hope Thorin isn't too much of a comic relief (the horror!), although this is strictly Bilbo's perspective and for him, the stubbornness of Dwarves might seem ridiculous every now and then.**


	6. Chapter 6

6.

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the night.

"What… was that?" Bilbo all but ran back to the fire, giving Kili and Fili a distressed look. His hair stood on end when answering screams echoed behind him.

They were camped on a ledge just wide enough to house the entire group and their ponies and high enough into the eastern shoulder of Weathertop to shield them from any unpleasant surprises from below. Their fire was somewhat sheltered by an alcove in the rock-wall and there, Thorin's nephews were enjoying a last bit of smoke before taking first-watch.

"Orcs," Kili said.

"ORCS?" Bilbo gasped. Of course, he had been warned countless times that they would run into those foul creatures sometime along the quest, but that didn't mean Bilbo was in any way ready for it. Orcs had never been anything more but monsters out of books and legends for him.

"Throat-cutters," Fili added, setting aside his pipe. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them."

With the corner of his eye, Bilbo saw Thorin startled out of uneasy sleep and looking about himself in alarm.

"They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep. "Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood," Kili continued the gruesome description.

Wide-eyed, Bilbo peered into the darkness behind him, hoping that their hidden guard was still watching over them and then wondering if the Elves might be danger as well.

He could have slapped the brothers when he heard them chuckling behind his back. There was a very sharp remark just on the tip of Bilbo's tongue as he whirled around, but Thorin beat him to it.

"You think that's funny? You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?!" he growled, stomping past his suddenly cowed nephews.

"We thought… I just wanted to lift the somber mood that's been over us all day. Just a little laugh. We didn't mean anything by it," Kili explained, averting his eyes.

"No, you didn't! You know nothing of the world," Thorin shot the reprimand over his shoulder, walking away to the very edge of camp and as far away from his foolish nephews as he could.

"That wasn't… it was completely unnecessary," Bilbo said, his reproachful look resting on the elder brother. Kili was already slumped against the wall, downcast and crestfallen.

"I'm sorry," Fili offered. "Thorin is right, it is no laughing matter. I imagine you've never seen an orc before."

"No, I have not. And I don't want to see one either. Nor do I want to see _him_ angrier than usual," Bilbo nodded in Thorin's direction.

"Don't mind him, lads. Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs," Balin said. He stepped into the circle of light, looking from one of them to the other for a moment. "After the dragon took our home, it was orcs we had to fight for a place of our own in this world. And though the battle was won, no songs were sung that day or any day after. Our dead were beyond the count of grief."

Although he was still angry with them, Bilbo sat himself close to the brothers, wondering at the solemn look on their faces. He knew very little about the tale that Balin had begun and begged the old Dwarf to tell him more. Perhaps it would give him better understanding of why Thorin seemed to walk about with the weight of the whole world on his shoulders.

And indeed, as Balin recalled the battle of Azanulbizar, Bilbo thought he could see Thorin's shoulders slump. He could hear them plainly as he still stood there, wrapped in his fur coat and a heavy blanket of misery. As Balin's story unfolded, Bilbo could hardly fathom the loss Thorin had suffered. That all the Dwarves had suffered… And for the first time since he had set out from home, Bilbo began to understand that it wasn't merely the thought of treasure but duty that guided his companions' steps. He began to feel that giving up his comfort and safety to stand by them wasn't such a terrible sacrifice after all.

"Did you hear that?!" Kili started, groping for his bow. He was on his feet in an instant, nocking an arrow and pointing it somewhere above their heads.

Bilbo flattened himself against the wall, watching Fili spring by his brother's side.

"What is it, what did you hear?"

"I don't know," Kili whispered. "I thought I heard something shuffling against the rocks above us. Can you see anything?"

Fili could not, but he drew up a pair of daggers all the same.

"Lay down your weapons, boys, there is no danger," Gandalf spoke from somewhere in the shadows. "It's quite alright."

Just then, a shape fell from the lip of their alcove, dropping into a crouch before the startled brothers. It was all Fili could do not to stab it.

"Forgive me. Your tale drew me closer," the shadow unfolded itself into an Elf who turned to Balin and lowered his head in greeting.

"Oh, it's you…" Kili shoulders sagged with relief and he let his arrow fall to the ground.

Bilbo let out a nervous little laugh, wanting to tell Maitimo that he made a welcome sight after the terrible talk of orcs and battles and death. But he held his tongue and merely smiled at the Elf.

"I did not mean to frighten you," Maitimo said. "It was my turn to watch over you tonight and I could hear the tale of your people from my perch high above. Curiosity won me over. You spoke of things I did not know," he said to Balin.

"So, the spy decides to reveal himself?" Thorin's voice boomed behind him. "You turn to watch over us, is it? I have warned my company time and time again, no word we speak is safe. You've been spying our every move ever since we left the Shire, haven't you?"

Bilbo cringed and exchanged a woeful look with Fili. They both watched anxiously as Maitimo turned to face Thorin. His long, cloaked shape obscured Thorin from view and it took the Elf three strides to reach him.

"I would not call it spying, Thorin Oakenshield. But you believe what you will."

"I have grown tired of this game," Thorin ground out in reply. "I could not have been more clear when I told you I do not want you to meddle in my business anymore. I did not ask you to guard us or to protect us along the way and while it has not been unwelcome, I cannot help but feel that you do this for your own amusement. You've toyed with us each day and laughed at our antics. Do not deny it, I have heard you with my own ears."

When the Elf said nothing, Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. It was not going well, not going well at all.

"Why are you so angry, Thorin Oakenshield?"

Bilbo all but snorted, picturing Thorin's furious expression, made even more so by having to look up at the Elf he confronted.

"Do you not know that your rage blinds you?"

Thorin made no reply, but Bilbo could imagine him shaking with anger.

"You can no longer tell friend from foe. You seek insult and injury behind all good intentions. Your pride clouds your judgment."

"How dare you?!" Thorin shouted. Bilbo saw a spark of light on metal and knew that Thorin had drawn his sword.

"No, stay your hand," the Elf did not flinch. "I have not come to provoke you. I understand you better than you can imagine, Thorin Oakenshield."

"You know nothing about me!" the Dwarf growled, his weapon still poised to strike.

"Tell me, Master Dwarf, do you believe you are the only one who knows pain and loss? Do you believe that your tragedy is singular and the burden you bear has never been born before?"

Although he claimed he did not wish to provoke, the Elf made a poor job of it. Bilbo listened tensely, as did everyone else around him.

"Do not slight the tragedy of my people!" Thorin warned.

"That is not my intention, stop twisting my words! What I mean to say is that I know your pain. I know what has brought you here, I have lived through everything you have and suffered the same, if not more. I know what it's like to be fueled by hate and anger, to have friends and foes alike flee from the sight of you because the only flame burning in your eyes is that of vengeance. I too know loss and death, Thorin Oakenshield."

Bilbo gasped, shocked to hear how loudly he had broken the silence around him. He slapped a hand over his mouth and watched the exchange before him with mounting anxiety.

"What loss have you endured that could compare to the fate of my people?" Thorin said, after a moment of hesitation. Some of the rage seemed to have bled out of his voice and, to Bilbo's relief, he'd lowered his sword.

"What loss? Where do I begin? Like you, Master Dwarf, we have lost our home and our treasure to plunder. I've lost my grandfather to murder before our very gates. Vengeance drove us into dark places. Madness and grief destroyed my father. The enemy took me and broke me until nothing but a husk remained. I have endured loss of home, of family, of limb and even loss life. I do not lie when I say to you that I understand what drives you and that is why I wish to aid you, Thorin," Maitimo finished with a sigh. He stepped aside, head lowered and eyes closed, revealing to Bilbo a silent and thoughtful Thorin Oakenshield.

"When… did this happen?" Thorin asked after a long pause.

"In another life and another world, both drowned beneath the Sea."

"Who are you?" Thorin turned to the Elf, brows drawn together, but for once, there was no more anger in his eyes.

"We are Noldor. And ours has been the long defeat since before the first sunrise, Master Dwarf. You are not the only homeless wanderer of this world, with nothing but memories of better days to keep you warm. You, at least, have some hope of regaining that which you once lost. But for us, it is all long gone, beyond reach, unto the ending of the world. Think of it, Thorin Oakenshield, and perhaps we will understand each other better."

With that final bidding, Maitimo drew his cloak about himself and melted into the shadows. There was no sound of his passing and no answer when Thorin called after him. As for the rest of the company, they looked at one another in a daze.

At last, Thorin sheathed his sword and walked over to the wizard.

"Gandalf… Do you know anything of what the Elf told us?"

"Only tales. I did not walk the world in that dark Age, nor have I witnessed its many sorrows," Gandalf sighed. It seemed to Bilbo that he had somehow shrunk in on himself, looking older and more frail than the Hobbit had ever seen him. "This is no place for recounting such stories. Lord Elrond in Rivendell will know more. Perhaps he can shed some light into the history of these Elves. They are his distant kinsmen, after all."

A protest should have followed, Thorin always had harsh remarks at the ready, whenever Gandalf spoke of the Hidden Valley and urged Thorin to lead his company there. But the Dwarf fetched a deep sigh and sat down on a boulder by Gandalf's side. He said no more and the wizard returned to his pipe, staring thoughtfully into the darkness.

As for Bilbo, the whole exchange had left him feeling sad and very, very small. Beneath that lurked the confusing thought that it he should have been able to make more sense of what he had heard. Bilbo lowered himself to the grown, drawing up his knees and poking the fire restlessly. When a hand rested on his shoulder, Bilbo looked up and saw his expression mirrored on Fili's face. The young Dwarf said nothing, but gave Bilbo's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, before turning to his brother.


	7. Chapter 7

7.

'_Hoot twice like a barn-owl and once like a screech owl'_ they'd said.

_'We'll be right behind you'_ they'd said.

And they hadn't lied, in a manner of speaking. Fili and Kili had been the first to have filthy sacs thrown over their heads in preparation for dinner. _Troll_ dinner. And the entire company had nearly been the main course.

It had been the most horrific and disgusting experience of Bilbo's entire life. Being a troll's pocket handkerchief even before the lumbering idiots tried to turn him into dinner was something Bilbo never, ever wanted to think back on. He would never feel clean again, no matter how many times he'd washed himself since.

"You alright, laddie?"

Balin must have caught him shuddering. They were riding side by side, a day away from the spot where three trolls were forever rooted in by sunlight. Still, it wasn't far enough for the poor Hobbit.

"Ugh… yes. Just… I'm alright, thank you."

"Eh, that nasty business will take a while to get over, but don't worry. It was a close shave, but we're alright now," Balin offered him a sympathetic smile.

Close shave was putting it mildly (and somewhat ridiculously, when he looked at the Dwarf's ample beard). Gandalf had not come a moment too soon and if it weren't for him sowing confusion among the dull-witted trolls… well… Bilbo would have never heard the end of how best to cook a Dwarf.

They were sixteen days away from Weathertop, still keeping to the road, but even so, trouble had found them. Without anyone but themselves to count on, Bilbo actually wondered how they had managed two whole weeks of uneventful trudging through the wild.

The Elves had disappeared completely, there hadn't been the slightest sign of them after Weathertop, and even Gandalf agreed that they had probably gone ahead to Rivendell. The wizard himself took off in a huff, tired of bickering with Thorin and of Dwarves in general. After that, if there were trolls to be found so far south… the company had wasted no time in finding them.

But Balin was right, they had escaped uneaten and Gandalf was back once more. Hoping the worst was behind him, Bilbo decided to girt himself and make the best of it. That reminded him of the trolls' cave and the treasure they'd discovered there. What had Gloin called it? _Long term deposit._

In the end, the whole business hadn't concluded nearly as bad as it could have. Even Thorin seemed to be pleased with his distinctively Elvish blade and Gandalf had taken a mighty weapon of his own. As for Bilbo… he looked down at his side and smiled at the beautiful scabbard of his very first sword. Gandalf had improvised a belt for him and had even given Bilbo a little speech about when to strike and when to spare a life. Bilbo was quite certain he would never acquire the nerve to even think of taking a life. Nevermind how he didn't have the faintest clue how to wield a sword.

"What's that, lad?" Balin leaned closer and squinted at Bilbo's side.

A faint blue light shone out of the scabbard, making Bilbo's heart plummet. What had Gandalf said? The Elvish sword would glow with blue fire when orcs were at hand?

His fingers not quite steady, Bilbo pulled out the sword and saw the entire blade lit.

"Thorin!" he yelled shrilly. "Thorin, the swords!" Bilbo urged his pony into a trot, hurrying to the front of the group. "They're glowing!"

Thorin's eyes widened as he unsheathed his enormous sword. Bilbo swallowed with a click, almost certain that the glow had deepened from one moment to the next.

"Orcs!" Gandalf shouted. "And it is no laughing matter this time. They are getting closer. Orcs!" he gave another cry of warning to the others.

"Gandalf! Who have you told about our quest?!" Thorin thundered suddenly.

"Nobody," the wizard started.

"WHO ELSE HAVE YOU TOLD ABOUT OUR QUEST?!"

"Nobody else. I swear it. Now come to your senses, Thorin! We've got to run!"

Just then, a long and sinister howl erupted somewhere behind them. It was picked up and multiplied in a terrifying din.

"Wolves? Are there wolves, Gandalf?" Bilbo stammered, trying to keep his pony from bolting.

"Wargs!" someone shouted and then, the whole company was on the move. Whatever wargs were, Bilbo knew they frightened him as much as they did his pony.

Gandalf ushered them off the road, shouting something about dismounting and letting the ponies run. That seemed to be foolish advice, until Bilbo was almost thrown and his pony screamed in terror. He jumped off and ran toward Gandalf as fast as his legs could carry him.

It was terrible business, running over uneven, rocky ground, with a pack of ravenous monsters getting closer and closer. Bilbo could hear them over the sound of his labored breath and the thudding of boots all around him. He could barely keep up, his feet caught and scratched in the tussock all around them. The Dwarves had stouter legs and sturdy boots to help them along but poor Bilbo had none of that and if he hadn't been yanked along every now and then, he probably would have lagged behind.

"Stay together!" Thorin yelled, turning back and doing a quick head count. "We've got to find some place we can defend, Gandalf! They're gaining on us!"

But as they looked around, there were nothing but rocks jutting out here and there, a few stunted trees and suddenly, some of the rocks were moving.

"There's more coming!" Kili yelled, nocking an arrow and releasing it into something that yelped in the distance.

"We're surrounded!" Fili confirmed Bilbo's worst fears and then lapsed into Kuzdhul, growling what sounded like a battle cry.

Thorin picked it up and barked some orders Bilbo could not understand. He was shoved and pulled into a circle of Dwarven warriors, with only Ori beside him. But even the company's librarian pulled out a broad blade and yelled furiously, elbowing his brothers aside.

The wolves… no, the _wargs_ had them surrounded a few moments after. Bilbo could not see them, but the snarls he heard were enough to set his hair on end. Coarse voices shouted in a hideous language and Bilbo watched his sword turn brilliantly blue. But it shook badly in his hands and he only hoped he would not hurt one of his friends if he tried to use it.

Chaos broke loose with the twang of Kili's bow and hair-raising battle cries. Bilbo searched Gandalf with frightened eyes, but the wizard was already engaged in battle, swinging both his sword and his staff with speed and agility no old man could possess.

"Stay close to someone. Stay close to someone!" Bilbo muttered to himself. Fili was too far from him and he could not see Thorin at all. He leaped over a cluster of broken rocks and aimed for Dwalin, when all hell broke loose.

How long they'd been fighting, Bilbo did not know. It could have been a minute or a day. He could tell little else past the thundering of his own heart. Everything around him had turned into a blur of dry grass and bloody blades and hideous, snarling faces. Bilbo's little Elvish blade was coated in the mire of warg blood too. He'd stabbed the hind quarters of a beast that nearly took Nori's head off. But beyond that, Bilbo had been jostled about, thrown from behind one Dwarf to another. They were all defending him, but they were also growing tired.

Tears of frustration welled in Bilbo's eyes. Not fear, he'd gone past fear and straight into the red heat of anger. They could not die there, they simply could not die there, they hadn't even reached Rivendell, much less the fabled Lonely Mountain! Their adventure could NOT end that way, it just couldn't!

With a desperate shout, Bilbo readied himself to jump into the fray. But his sword arm fell limp when an arrow whizzed past him, nicking his sleeve. He saw it stick into the eye of a shaggy beast that fell just a few steps away from him. The air suddenly hummed with the call of many horns and arrows seemed to be flying everywhere.

All the air squeaked out of him when Bilbo felt a hand at his back, snatching him off the ground and dumping him on the back of a horse.

"Hold on, little Hobbit! I need both my hands!" a familiar voice spoke to him. Bilbo didn't know which one of the Elven brothers it belonged to, but it didn't matter, they were there! And he was atop a huge horse, jostled about like poorly secured luggage.

For the rest of the battle, Bilbo did as he'd been told and held on for dear life.

…

"I think is safe to come down now, my friend."

Bilbo had been left atop the big, grey horse, with no saddle, or bridle or anything to hold onto. Sometime during the fight, the Elf had jumped off and sped after his quarry on foot, leaving the poor Hobbit to the mercy of his mount. Granted, the horse had kept him safe, but the ground looked very inviting and Bilbo reached out to the Elf, wanting to be set down.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for saving us," he told… Carnistir. Yes, the one with the slight blush in his cheeks, that was his name.

The Elf nodded briefly and petted the horse's neck.

"I glad we have arrived before it was too late."

Bilbo could not agree more. His eyes swept over the battlefield, searching for his friends. Ahead of him, the remnants of the warg pack were retreating, a handful of elves on horseback in pursuit.

"Your friends are safe. Uninjured as well, I hope. At least I have not seen any injury on either of them. Look," Carnistir motioned to their right, a broad smile breaking over his features.

Bilbo himself chuckled, part in nervous relief and part because the sight that greeted him was rather hilarious. Atop a tall, dark horse, Thorin Oakenshield yelled for all his worth and looked as though he were riding a dragon.

"If he can shout like that, I'd say he's unharmed. And you know, I do believe Dwarves are not very fond of horses," Carnistir suggested.

Just then, another horse trotted by, carrying Fili and caring not one bit that the Dwarf was begging it to stop. Bilbo laughed outright when he heard Gandalf not far off, doing exactly the same.

Gradually both Elves and Dwarves gathered around the mounted heirs of Durin. Relieved to find him safe and unharmed, Gandalf guided Bilbo the same way and they all began inspecting one another for injuries. Fortunately those were few and mostly scratches, although Bombur's arm had been cut and Dori favored his left foot somewhat.

But then, there was still the matter of hurt pride . Bilbo hoped that Thorin Oakenshield would not take being rescued by Elves too badly, although, from the looks of it, that was unlikely.

"I demand that you set me down this instant!" he growled, making the horse beneath him snort and shift uneasily. There was a tightness on Thorin's face that had to do with more than just anger, but nobody dared snicker at him outright. "Why in bloody blazes did you set me up on this beast in the first place?! We were fighting, damnit!"

"You were surrounded and made poor targets for our arrows. No harm to your dignity meant," Curufinwë approached his horse, quieting it down with a few whispered words.

"Just… get me off this vile beast!"

"Uh, me too?" Fili added hopefully.

Beside him, Tyelkormo said something to the horse, stepping back and allowing it to… kneel, of all things. Bilbo gaped as he watched the horse lowering itself slowly to one knee. Fili shifted uncertainly, clutching the horse's mane in both hands.

"What is it doing?" he gasped, wide-eyed.

"Letting you step off," Tyelkormo offered the Dwarf his arm and Fili slipped off the horse perfectly unharmed.

"Thank you," he whispered, shying away from the tall beast.

"You'll want to watch out for this one," Tyelkormo petted the horse's muzzle. "She has a fondness of blond hair."

Fili backed further away from the horse, glaring at a chortling Kili. But they were alive and unscathed and the brothers shared a brief embrace, before turning to look at their uncle's continued predicament.

Thorin had stopped demanding to be set down. He glared expectantly, instead, arms folded across his broad chest.

"Well…?"

"Well?" Curufinwë's lip twitched but he managed to keep a straight face.

"Make it let me down."

"I'm sorry, I have not my son's skill with bird and beast," Curufinwë said. He stepped closer and held his hands together in a makeshift stirrup. "I won't drop you, Master Dwarf, I promise."

And so, Thorin descended from the back of the Elvish horse, very slowly and very carefully.

"There are your mighty steeds!" Tyelkormo swept his hand toward the direction where the company's ponies were led back to them, safe and sound, still carrying their packs. Canafinwë and one of the red-haired twins were with them.

"Very funny!" Bilbo heard Dwalin mutter.

"I suppose you'll be wanting thanks for rescuing us?" Thorin shot the Elf at his side a doubtful look.

"It isn't necessary, but it would be appreciated," Curufinwë smiled.

"Well. Thank you. But where were you when those blasted trolls nearly ate us, hmm? Where were you then?!"

At that, the Elf threw his head back and laughed. The sons closest to him did the same and it was a sound that washed away all memories of snarling wargs. Still, Bilbo thought Thorin might have preferred the snarling.

The Dwarf bristled and would have thrown back some scathing reply, but Dwalin cuffed him gently, adding his own voice to the laughter.

"Oh, come off it, lad, you sounded like a right princess just now. 'Where were my knights in shining armor when trolls wanted to mince me into pie?'," he parroted, laughing heartily.

Bilbo saw Thorin's scowl deepen for a second and then, he let out a low rumble that could have passed for laughter. Before long, they were all laughing loudly and Bilbo wondered at the sight they made. Out in the wild, a merry band of lunatics, at least one for each race, laughing until tears sprung out of their eyes and they didn't even remember what had set them off in the first place. It was probably the after-shock of battle, but honestly… Bilbo could care less. He steadied himself against Gandalf and laughed.


	8. Chapter 8

8.

The reek of burning carcasses still haunted the company, even after they'd put some miles between them and the place of battle. While they waited for Elrond's sons and Lord Glorfindel to return from pursuit, the other Elves had made quick business of piling the corpses and setting them aflame. It would serve as a warning to any and all hostile eyes.

All the same, everyone was on horseback and riding with a glorious sunset behind them, as the last day of May slowly drew to an end. The only place the Bruinen could be forded safely (especially by the ponies) lay three days ahead, but Bilbo thought they would be much safer on their way to Rivendell. At least, he hoped as much and Gandalf had declared it extremely peculiar, that danger pursued them so close to the Hidden Valley. To this, the Elves of Imladris could only add their own concerns and the tale of trolls so far south of the Ettenmoors puzzled them especially.

The company kept to the road still, going in double file, with the Elves riding in front and on either side. Their big horses nickered and snorted and pranced at the slow pace, but there was no rushing the ponies and least of all, the tired Dwarves.

Even Thorin seemed to be hunched in the saddle and Elven hands had shot out to straighten more than one of his company as they drooped and swayed tiredly. Small wonder that… after a sleepless night under threat of being roasted alive and then the frantic battle.

Bilbo could barely stay awake, his eyes falling shut more often than not, as Elvish song lulled him further. At the head of the caravan, Canafinwë sang softly, but his voice was no longer a heartbreaking torment to listen to. And neither of the Dwarves had said anything against it.

"Here, have a sip of this," Carnistir startled Bilbo, catching him before the Hobbit was even aware he was slipping off his pony. "You're all spent, it's plain to see, but while the light holds, we will continue to ride. Drink, you'll feel refreshed."

Bilbo took the small flask the Elf held out to him and saw that the Dwarves were also being offered the same. He sniffed the cordial and felt a pleasant fragrance wafting from the silver mouth. With an inward shrug, Bilbo took a hearty sip and found the liquid cool, with no particular taste. That was, until it hit the bottom of his stomach. Bilbo's eyes shot open and suddenly, he felt all weariness fall from him. He'd never felt as refreshed or as exquisitely full his whole life!

"Easy now, not too much," Carnistir told him.

"What is this wonderful thing?"

"Miruvor, Mr. Baggins. It is very potent, though. One more mouthful should be enough."

Bilbo drank said mouthful and returned the flask, giving it a regretful look. Of all the wholesome things he had ever eaten and drunk, it was beyond compare.

"I feel as though I've just woken up after a restful night in my own bed and had a hearty breakfast! I could go on riding for days," Bilbo smiled, feeling even the tips of his fingers tingle with renewed energy.

"Not quite so long, but it will help you for a while," the Elf smiled.

However, Bilbo saw his lips twitch and thought he could hear a soft chuckle as Carnistir looked ahead and… predictably, Thorin didn't trust the Elvish drink quite so easily.

Bilbo sighed, watching the Dwarf bring his pony to a halt and sniff the flask in his hand suspiciously. He wasn't the only one doing it either.

"I think it would have been less of a headache to let you be torn to shreds by wargs than bother poisoning you now," Carnistir muttered.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo eyed him apologetically. "He'll come around, I'm sure of it. Already the others are less… Dwarvish about this."

Gandalf grumbled something and looked about ready to poke Thorin with his staff. The Dwarf finally took a sip and Bilbo bit his lip hard, seeing the astonished look on his face. Thorin shuddered and shook his long mane, bringing the flask to his lips once more. Bilbo could have sworn he'd heard him growl when the Elf closest to him snatched the flask from his hands, berating him for drinking too much.

That, however, was not the company's biggest problem. Some few moments after they'd all been refreshed, Fili and Kili began to shuffle in their saddles, twitch and babble incessantly. Their eyes moved like loose ball-bearings in their heads and try as they might, they could not sit still for a moment.

"We… uh… we had all the… what's-it-called," Kili stuttered, his breath hitching.

"I think… feel's like I'm gonna burst! And my heart…," Fili shook his head, golden strands falling into his face. His braided whiskers twitched in a way that would have been funny if Bilbo weren't worried about him and his brother.

"What did ya do this time, rascals?" Dwalin rode between them, giving Kili's shoulder a poke. "Hey, watchit!" he yelled when Kili's arm jerked and smacked him, to the young Dwarf's horror.

"What in Mahal's name?" Balin gaped at the two. "Are you alright, lads? Does… anything hurt?"

"No! But I… I think I'm gonna scream!" Fili slapped a hand over his mouth to prevent that. A second later, he jumped off his pony and ran to the front of their group.

"I'm really sorry, I had my eye off them for one moment, just one moment," Maitimo said. "I hadn't warned them that they shouldn't take more than a sip and..."

"I was thirsty!" Kili squeaked. "I didn't mean to!"

He too sprang off his ride and pelted after his brother.

"What did you to do my nephews?!" Bilbo heard Thorin thundering. He craned his neck, trying to see what the nephews in question were doing, but he couldn't see either of them.

Curufinwë was trying to explain what had happened and set Thorin's worries at ease, when they heard shouts and laughter some way off the side of the road.

"Someone catch those fools and take their weapons before they hurt themselves," Thorin grumbled.

Maitimo and Tyelkormo dismounted, running toward the laughter and the energetic yelling. But it was some time before Kili and Fili could be caught, grappled with and disarmed. There weren't many straight faces in the group as it happened, but the young Dwarves laughed along, happily intoxicated. After some long minutes of cheerful struggle, Thorin whacked them both over their silly heads, barking some ominous curses and telling them what an embarrassment to Dwarf-kind they were.

Fili chortled on undisturbed, ducking another whack and hiding behind the Elf closest to him. Bilbo wondered just how long before Thorin would burst a blood vessel.

"Peace, Thorin!" Gandalf tried to calm him. "They can't help it. Let the effects pass and then give them an upbraiding. You're wasting your breath now."

"I can see that," Thorin retorted. "I ought to have them bound, thrown over the backs of their ponies," he stopped when Kili gave an outraged gasp and ran away, giggling madly. "And gagged…," Thorin sighed, passing a hand over his face.

He was about to make good the threat when his errant nephews were caught once more but just then, they both swayed and went out like a light. The Elves picked them up and set them on horseback, in front of Maitimo and Tyelkormo. Almost at once, the boys sagged against the comfortable back-rest and began snoring softly.

The Elves laughed, petting their charges as though they were slumbering children, much to Thorin's dismay. But they did promise to carry them as softly and gently as possible, telling their horses to tread smoothly and not jostle the sleeping beauties.

And so, the company was finally able to continue their journey. The sun had already descended well past the western rim of the world, but in the fading light, Bilbo could see Thorin checking on his nephews every now and again. The Hobbit chuckled, fairly sure that Thorin shriveled inside a little more each time he saw his heirs snuggled happily in protective Elvish arms.

…

Bilbo should have been sleeping soundly until the morning, he'd thought as much when the effects of miruvor passed and he finally lay down. But, sometime into the night, he woke up to the sound of people holding concourse. Muffling a yawn and stretching beneath his blanket, Bilbo tried to make out what they were saying and, more importantly, who _they_ were.

He heard Gandal'f deep voice and Thorin's low rumble and one of the fair Elven voices, but Bilbo could not tell who the speaker was. He sat up and peered over the bodies of his sleeping companions. He saw Gandalf seated close to the fire and Thorin nearby, both of them listening intently to what Glorfindel of Rivendell had to say. They were too far away from Bilbo for their words to make any sense. But then, they were probably discussing important matters that the Hobbit had no business eavesdropping on.

"Having trouble sleeping, Mr. Baggins?" a whisper behind him startled Bilbo badly. He whirled around and saw nothing, until a hand clutched his wrist and pulled him back down. "Shh, you don't want the high and mighty ones to know you're eavesdropping."

"I wasn't…," Bilbo squinted, unable to tell which of the Elves was whispering to him.

"Perhaps not, but I was," the Elf shifted a little closer, pulling the hood off his head. It was Curufinwë, the son, and least communicative of the bothers, at least as far as Bilbo was concerned. Small wonder he hadn't recognized him.

He lay silent and tense, when Thorin's voice seemed to sharpen, but then dropped back to a murmur.

"I just hope they're not disagreeing too badly," Bilbo said.

"You'd be surprised. For once, your fearless leader seems inclined to listen. And so he should. Things are set in motion far greater than his little treasure hunt. If he doesn't pay close attention, he'll find himself and his merry bad swept off their feet."

Bilbo frowned. He didn't much like the Elf's choice of words, but the _greater things set in motion_ part concerned him more.

"What do you mean? What things?"

"I don't know for sure, they've been talking in hints and riddles. I doubt they know much themselves, but I heard talk about a White Council being called in Imladris. Elrond said as much before we set out to rescue you."

"White Council? What is that?"

"A meeting of wizards and powerful Elf Lords. They call themselves the Guardians of Middle-earth. They'll be talking about orcs and your trolls, Mr. Baggins, and other charming portents of evil like that."

"Will you be taking part in this council?" Bilbo asked, after a thoughtful pause.

"Oh, no. We are but newly come to this world. We do not know enough to properly read the signs these Great Ones are looking for. Perhaps father should be included, but the founder of the While Council would never abide it. One Lady Galadriel, queen of Lothlorien," the Elf drew out his last words with unmistakable contempt. "She hates my father and despises the rest of us with a passion."

Bilbo coughed, too surprised to check himself. He couldn't imagine any Elf capable of hate, unless it were for the Enemy.

"Oh, don't worry. The feeling is mutual, I assure you," Curufinwë added flippantly. "We have other business to attend to but dance to this _queen's_ tune."

He couldn't make out much of the Elf's face but Bilbo saw his eyes lit with a cold fire, before Curufinwë schooled his features into a serene smile.

"Will we see this Elf Lady in Rivendell, you think?"

"You may. Though I doubt she will trouble herself with little people. Pardon the wording, I meant no offense. It's just… the high and mighty do not often deign to bother with the affairs of mortals. Unless, of course, they do so for the pleasure of meddling."

Bilbo lay back on his bedroll and pulled his blanket tight around himself, chilled by the Elf's words.

"If I were you, Mr. Baggins, and I came across her party from the Golden Wood, I would calmly but quickly walk the other way. And I would advise His Royal Majesty to do the same. I'm sure he will appreciate Galadriel as much as salt being poured into his wounds. "

* * *

**A/N: This chapter sneaked up on me. It wasn't supposed to happen, but Fili and Kili wanted a re-enactment of Merry and Pippin and too much lembas.**

**And then of course, Curufin had to be Curufin, bless his derisive gorgeous self.**


	9. Chapter 9

9.

Bilbo walked as though in a dream and each step took him deeper into a place that not even the richest imagination could conjure.

Long before the valley of Imladris had opened to his eyes, the Hobbit had felt a change coming, subtle at first, a freshness of the air and a fragrance that reminded him Bilbo of the Elven cordial. But as the winding path led him along the Bruinen and deeper into the Elven realm, colors became crisper and nature blossomed around him so full of life it stole Bilbo's breath away.

High up in the clear June sky, the sun shone down on the company, but it did not burn, not even at midday. The softest breeze whispered through the grass, bringing with it a cool mist from the countless waterfalls that dressed the valley walls in a moving tapestry. And all around them, birds sang, weaving their voices into the music of the Loudwater.

As weariness fell from the travelers, they murmured among themselves, wondering at the Elvish magic at work. But the Elves said nothing, rather rode ahead to announce the company's arrival and stable their horses. The narrow path allowed but one rider to pass and so, the Elves left only Gandalf to guide his companions on the final leg to the bridge.

"The Last Homely House east of the Sea is a place apart from the weariness of the world," Gandalf said. "Call it Elven magic, if you will, but fear it not. In the house of Lord Elrond, you fill find shelter, rest and soothing for your hurts."

"Will there be food?" Gloin voiced their shared concern. Their packs had grown considerably lighter and Bilbo himself could tighten his belt a great deal further than when he'd left Bag End.

"Certainly. Food and drink to your heart's desire," Gandalf assured them. "Also, the finest company you could wish for and answers to our questions," the wizard eyed Thorin intently.

Bilbo suspected that the leader of their company was still very reluctant to reveal the purpose of their journey before any Elf. He had certainly not offered to show Curufinwë the map, although Gandalf had suggested it, saying that he and some of his sons were gifted scholars. Still, the secrets of his map needed to be puzzled out and in the end, Thorin would have to relent.

All thoughts of maps and secrets fled from their minds when they set foot across the bridge and entered the house of Elrond Half-Elven. Even the arch of stone that crossed the Bruinen bore signs of craftsmanship that the Dwarves marveled at. Like Bilbo, they craned their necks and took in the wonder of architecture before them with wide eyes.

The Last Homely house was more than just a house. It was a small Elvish city, tucked in a narrow strip of land between towering walls of rock. The Bruinen thundered right through it, fed by many streams that tumbled into the valley. The air seemed to shimmer with rainbows everywhere Bilbo looked, making him blink in a daze.

And the buildings… Form afar, they had resembled miniatures in silver and gold, artwork done by the finest jewel-smiths ever to have walked the world. From the wide, circular courtyard where they had dismounted their ponies, the company could see that masons and carvers and metalworkers had labored to recapture the glory of the Elder days and the splendor of lost Elvish realms. Pillars resembled living trees, the lattice work between them a twist of vines and leaves of plants Bilbo could not name. He had no words to describe the slender towers or the wide porches or the many arches of stone that connected the buildings. Everything had been made with infinite care and detail that bewildered the eye.

Although Bilbo knew he was gifted with an uncommonly rich imagination for a Hobbit, no story he had ever read had prepared him for the unspeakable beauty he was facing. He guessed that Erebor would impress him the same, Balin's many tales of it had certainly awoken in him the desire to see the Dwarwish kingdom, but for the moment, Bilbo's heart was captured by Rivendell.

"Welcome, Thorin Oakenshield. Welcome all of you," a dark-haired Elf greeted them. He descended the stairs into the courtyard, followed by Elladan and Elrohir. The three wore circlets on their foreheads and long robes that shimmered faintly as they moved. Bilbo saw Gandalf embrace the lord of the valley and they smiled, exchanging some words in the Elvish tongue.

Thorin walked up to lord Elrond and thanked him for the welcome. He appeared determined to heed Gandalf's advice and show their host _respect, tact and no small degree of charm._ Thankfully, the rest of the Dwarves followed his lead, allowing their ponies and gear to be collected by the Elves of lord Elrond's house.

They were guided some way from the courtyard, up a steep flight of stairs and into a magnificent guest house. Bilbo's room alone was large enough to fit several of his own, although he prided himself with the spaciousness of Bad End. It did not have windows, but opened into a circular balcony, giving Bilbo a breathtaking view of the valley. He soon met most of the Dwarves there, all of them awed and glancing awkwardly at the tall pillars and the life-like statues that held up the ceiling.

After giving them a moment to refresh themselves, Lord Elrond invited the company at his table, leading them onto a wide terrace where two long tables had already been laid. Glorfindel waited there, together with two other Imladris Elves and Lord Elrond's sons. Bilbo glanced about for Curufinwë and his sons, but they were not present. He meant to ask after them, but when was seated at the table among his friends, the meal soon won all his attention.

Thorin alone of the Dwarves sat at the Lord's table, in a high-backed chair he did not seem very comfortable in. Bilbo could see him talking with Gandalf and the Elf Lords, but heard nothing through the commotion at his own table. Although his friends had lost some of their enthusiasm for a good meal and had grumbled at the ridiculous amount of greenery, they favored the wine enough to empty decanter after decanter and become all the louder for it. But Bilbo could guess well enough what the lords were discussing, when Gandalf and Thorin brought their Elvish blades up for inspection.

He would have liked to hear what was said at the other table. Gandalf had hinted that the Elvish swords were very old and of noble ancestry. He'd told them that the ancient blades were forged by he High Elves of the First Age, in Gondolin. Bilbo had read some of the old legends and knew about the fall of that glorious kingdom, but how could the Elvish blades have survived so many thousands of years unscathed?

Just then, Bilbo recalled his own little blade and wondered if there were any tales to be told about it. He'd brought it with him at the table (more or less hidden under his coat), meaning to ask. Bilbo sat up and unsheathed the sword, looking at the other table and seeing Thorin receiving his own blade back from Lord Elrond. It was plain to see that Dwarf beheld it with renewed with respect.

"I wouldn't bother with that, laddie," Balin told him.

"Why not? You think my sword hasn't seen battle?"

"I'm not sure it even is a sword. Looks more like a letter-opener to me," Balin chuckled good-naturedly, motioning Bilbo to return to his seat.

"Oh, you're probably right."

Hopes dashed, Bilbo was about to put the blade back in its scabbard, when Glorfindel noticed him and came to their table.

"Master Baggins... what is that? May I?"

Silence fell over all the Dwarves as Bilbo gave the Elf his sword. In Glorfindel's hands, it was indeed no more than a knife.

"Where did you find this? In the troll hoard with the others?"

"Yes. Gandalf... he gave it to me," Bilbo said, wondering at the astonished look on the Elf's face.

"I can't believe I'm holding this again...," Glorfindel murmured.

"You know this sword? Er, I mean, this knife. I suppose it is more of a knife than anything..."

"It is a knife, yes. It used to be mine," the Elf Lord's smile widened as he drew his fingers over the smooth metal surface.

Bilbo could not hold back a triumphant grin as he glanced over at Balin.

"I lost this knife on the terrible day my City fell. I still had it on me when we came out of the tunnel and took the cruel mountain paths. We were ambushed not long after and I... I fell too. Although I can't believe these blades escaped the sack of Gondolin and the ruin of Beleriand without a single dent, when all of us died and the lands crumbled beneath the Sea."

"Wait… wait!" Bilbo suddenly felt very faint and he plopped himself back into his seat. "You're… you mean to say you're THAT Glorfindel? The one who fought with the Balrog?"

Glorfindel gave Bilbo a soft, almost embarrassed smile, nodding slowly.

"Oh, my goodness! You… I don't… you're… and I had your sword… I mean your knife! Oh, my!" Bilbo took a few deep breaths and gratefully accepted the glass of wine Balin was pushing into his hand.

"That was a very long time ago, Bilbo. In another life. I am Glorfindel of Imladris now. At your service," Glorfindel tilted his head, acknowledging the wide-eyed looks the Dwarves were giving him. Their people may have had little interest in Elvish legends and heroes, but everyone had heard about the famous Balrog Slayers of Gondolin.

Glorfindel pulled himself a chair and sat next to the utterly bewildered Hobbit.

"I do not know what chance brought you near those trolls," he said. "But you have come out much wealthier for your troubles. The blade that Mithrandir now bears belonged to my King. I could never fathom that it would be anywhere else but buried with him beneath the ruins of his tower. And Orcrist, Thorin's sword… that one fell from Ecthelion's hand as he fought the Enemy on our City streets. There never was a finer blade and I hope that it serves Thorin Oakenshield better than it did my friend on that fateful day."

A long moment of silence fell over them when the Elf finished speaking. They were all struggling to wrap their minds around what he had said. Even to those barely familiar with any of the histories, it seemed as though a legend had woken and spoken to them with words. Then, coughing and quite sure he was blushing, Bilbo turned to Glorfindel.

"My Lord, I am deeply honored to have carried this weapon and utterly unworthy of it. May I return it to you now?"

"No, Bilbo Baggins, you may not," the Elf smiled. "Keep it, please."

"Oh no, I couldn't..."

"It would please me to know that this blade is in good hands, although I wish you will never have to put it to use."

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know how to use it..."

"We can't have that!" the Elf chuckled. "We shall have to teach you."

Bilbo eyed him uncertainly, half hoping that Glorfindel was only jesting.

"I will teach you how to use this sword."

"We will teach you too," Fili offered, his face so eager for it that Bilbo feared the brothers would snatch him from the table right away.

"Well... thank you," he mumbled.

"Alright then, that's settled," Glorfindel gave Bilbo back the little sword.

"Um... beg your pardon, my Lord, but could you tell me... Well, does it have a name?" Bilbo inquired hopefully.

"No, I'm afraid it does not. But that is well. It is now your sword and so _you_ must find a proper name for it," Glorfindel told him.

Hands shaking slightly, Bilbo put the blade back in its scabbard. He'd have to work on the little bit of Elvish he knew, if only to find a beautiful name for such an ancient and important weapon. But the thought of actually learning how to use it gave the poor Hobbit more than a little trepidation.

* * *

**A/N: I may or may not have taken some liberties with canon in making Orcrist Ecthelion's sword and Glorfindel the owner of future Sting. But hey, anything to give Glorfindel some screen time!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: After quite a bit of research, it's still unclear to me how long Thorin and his company stayed in Rivendell. In the book, it says more than 14 days. Also, I have no clear idea when Mid-year's Day / Middsummer Day is in the story. June 21? June 24? The last day of June? So, I consulted the maps in Atlas of Middle-earth and there it says the company arrived in Rivendell on June the 4th and set out from Rivendell on July the 1st. That's a helluva lot of time, compared to the Peter Jackson 'lets get the info and get outta here' version. Which works wonderfully for the purposes of this story.**

* * *

10.

The previous evening had to have been the most awkward of Bilbo's entire life. Well, perhaps not the most uncomfortable, nothing could beat _troll dinner _in that respect, but unpleasant enough to give him the shivers when looking back on it.

After a first rest day in Lord Elrond's house,Thorin had been invited (or rather, mercilessly harangued by Gandalf) to tell the Lord of Imladris what he purposed on his travels and seek information from him. In the end, it probably wasn't Gandalf's insistence as much as Thorin's wish to be done with it and on his way that decided the matter. Sometime after dinner, Lord Elrond had invited Thorin and Gandalf to a private meeting.

Thorin had insisted on bringing with him his chief advisor and Balin had been summoned to join them. For his part, Gandalf had insisted that Bilbo should be present as well, although Bilbo didn't quite understand what he would do except get in the way. Also, he didn't care much for the way Gandalf repeatedly named him the _burglar_ of Thorin's company, not when Lord Elrond gave him long, doubtful looks about it.

In spite of his protests, Bilbo had been ushered along into a two-storied hall that served as vestibule before Rivendell's extensive library and open office for the Lord's advisors. Two sets of curved stairs met somewhere above Bilbo and he'd descried a bowed silhouette up there, in the dark. He hadn't been able to tell if it was a statue or an living shape, but then, the distinction was difficult to make even in broad daylight, in many parts of the house.

Standing in a patch of silver moonlight, Lord Elrond had finally broached the subject of Thorin's journey to the Lonely Mountain. He repeated what Curufinwë had already told him (for which Thorin swore under his breath that he would never forgive the meddlesome bastard) and beckoned Thorin to speak if he was in need of counsel.

It was then that Bilbo wished he could have melted quietly into the shadows and slipped away unnoticed. He didn't fancy getting caught between hammer and anvil, between the infuriating stubbornness of Dwarves and the impatience that even Gandalf could not conceal anymore.

Thorin had hesitated for long moments, conferring with Balin in unintelligible whispers. Gandalf had begun to pace the floor, sighing and grumbling to himself, while Lord Elrond had waited with an inscrutable look on his face. Bilbo had been near the point of shouting, if only to fill the uncomfortable silence, but at last, Thorin had produced the map. His eyes would have burned holes in the Elf's back while Lord Elrond had examined the precious artifact. But, as Gandalf had suggested, he was one who could decipher the secrets of Thror's map.

When held under a shaft of moonlight, the map had revealed an invisible inscription. Or rather, had revealed the presence of one, but it could not be read. The cunning hands of the Dwarves had written it using _ithildin_, which could be seen only under starlight or moonlight. But the defenses of Thror's map went deeper than that. According to Lord Elrond, the moon runes had been penned down in a way that made them impossible to read unless the attempt were made on the same day of the year and under the same kind of moon as when they had been written. In the case of those particular moon runes, the day in question was Mid-year's Day.

Predictably, things had turned sour when Thorin's relief to learn that his grandfather's map contained more clues turned to disbelief and frustration. Mid-year's Day was no more and no less than twenty six days away! He would have to stay in Rivendell all that time, idle and cozened by the Elves.

Lord Elrond had made a very diplomatic retreat, sparing his unwilling guest the indignity of a regrettable scene. Still, that had not stopped Thorin from raging against the madness of such a long delay, in very loud and very colorful Khudzul.

Bilbo, on the other hand, had barely been able to conceal his relief. For him, the news had been nothing short of wonderful. Three whole weeks and more in the loveliest place in Middle-earth! Already, the dangers of the road had begun to fade from the Hobbit's mind and he'd had quite enough adventure to last him a lifetime.

It was unwise to speak to Thorin when the foul mood took him. Even Balin had left him to it, joining Bilbo and Gandalf on the way back to their lodgings. There wasn't much to say that Thorin himself would not reason on his own, once his frustration lessened. His company needed a few days of rest and replenishment. And, when Balin passed on the news of their extended stay in Rivendell, not all the Dwarves had been miserable about it.

Bilbo would have been perfectly content with no other treasure but the softness of his enormous bed and the peaceful company of his hosts. If anyone had demanded an honest answer of him right there and then, he would not have exchanged the loveliness of Rivendell even for his beloved home in the Shire. It made very little sense to Bilbo, why anyone would scorn such comforts in favor of some dragon-infested caverns. But Thorin was obviously of another opinion, as he returned from the library only to pace back and forth on the balcony for most of the night. Bilbo had fallen asleep to the dark silhouette of the Dwarf king still passing by the gauzy curtains of his room.

...

"Care for a bit more?"

Glorfindel's offer of cold ale caught Bilbo thinking back on the eventful evening before.

"Yes, please."

The Elf refilled his goblet, then leaned back against the wooden fence behind them.

"You were daydreaming, Master Baggins?"

"No. Not... exactly. Forgive me."

"Rest easy... what am I saying? That is probably exactly what you need. A good soak, something to fill your belly and a night's rest. I think I've gone ahead of myself and tired you more than I should have."

The Elf wasn't too far off the mark, but Bilbo could not say so. His very first training session with a sword had been clumsy, tiresome business, in spite of Glorfindel's advice and his patience. The Elf had kept his promise and commissioned for Bilbo a wooden sword in the likeness and weight of his former knife. And he seemed very determined to teach Bilbo the basics of swordplay, at least. However unenthusiastic about it, Bilbo would just have to learn.

"Please... no. That is not the case at all. I must apologize to you for taking up so much of your time with my complete lack of skill."

"Master Baggins. No, Bilbo. For today, and only because it is your first time under my care, I will allow this nonsense about waving apologies back and forth. But, starting tomorrow, you will be my student, I will be your teacher and we will both behave accordingly, yes?"

Quite stunned, Bilbo gulped a mouthful of drink and nodded.

"You don't have to look so frightened about it," Glorfindel laughed.

"I can't help but feel a little intimidated. I'm not a warrior like he is," Bilbo pointed in Fili's direction.

The young Dwarf had joined their practice session and he was still going through a rapid succession of moves, swinging his heavy blades with deadly speed. To Bilbo's secret amusement, Fili practically beamed each time Glorfindel praised him for his agility and skill with the blades. The Hobbit suspected that his friend suffered from a poorly disguised attack of hero-worship, but if Glorfindel had guessed it, he'd shown no outward sign.

Not to be outdone by his brother, Kili had taken his bow and surprised the Elves with his accuracy at the firing range. Bilbo only hoped that Thorin would not give them too much of a dressing down when he learned that his nephews were trying to impress damned Elves of all people.

"Perhaps you will not," Glorfindel said. "You will not be a deadly fighter like that young prince, but you needn't be. Defending yourself should be enough. It is sad that we live in a world where those who cannot wield a sword can still die by one. Your friends, be they Elves or Dwarves or even Mithrandir the wizard, may not always be there to look after you."

Bilbo nodded pensively and then remembered something he'd meant to ask the Elf since Glorfindel had picked him up for training.

"Lord Glorfindel, I have a question, if I may."

"Just Glorfindel, if you please. Captain, when we practice, but otherwise, I would that you didn't call me 'Lord'. It sounds entirely too pompous for my liking. But what is it that troubles you?"

"Ah, it's no trouble. Just... I was wondering about our friends. Well, mine, anyway. The Elves who traveled with us, do you know where they are? I have not seen or heard from them since we've arrived in Rivendell and... you don't suppose they're gone, do you?"

"Curufinwë and his sons, you mean? They are still here."

Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief, making the Elf at his side smile broadly.

"Do not worry, they are all well and accounted for. They're staying in a guest house of their own, but I think they've decided to keep to themselves for a while. Until your company is settled, that is. I suppose they are trying not to get underfoot and spare Thorin Oakenshield the trouble of dealing with too many Elves at once," Glorfindel smirked.

"But... they still mean to come with us, no?"

"I do not know, Bilbo. You will have to ask them yourself. I can show you the way to their guest house if you wish to see them."

"That would be very kind of you. But before we do so... perhaps you can tell me a little bit more about them? That is to say, if they are familiar to you and you may speak of them."

"They are and I may. Perhaps you wish to learn if I knew Curufinwë and his sons in the past? In our other lives, before the fall?"

"Yes."

"I suppose I could tell you some things..."

"I don't mean to pry," Bilbo added quickly. "It's just that we haven't had a lot of opportunities to speak, the situation with our groups being what it is. But I've grown quite fond of them and I would know..."

"Say no more, I understand," Glorfindel interrupted Bilbo's apologetic explanation. "The answer would be yes. I know Curufinwë and his sons from before. They were part of my House in Gondolin, the House of the Golden Flower. Some of them were craftsmiths, some scholars, some hunters. All of them fierce warriors."

"I had imagined as much," Bilbo said, waiting for Glorfindel to tell him more. But the Elf seemed suddenly lost in thought.

"They all fell in the battles of Beleriand," Glorfindel added after a long pause. "Curufinwë first, then his sons, but not all at once. Those were dark days, Bilbo," the Elf sighed, passing a hand over his face.

"I... understand. Well, I don't, I couldn't possibly. But the more I know, the closer I come to understanding," Bilbo replied. He could tell that bringing up painful memories upset his companion and meant to speak of something else.

It just so happened that Fili came to the rescue at the opportune moment.

"I think Master Baggins is already more of a scholar than he will ever be a warrior," Fili grinned at the Hobbit. He stood before him and the Elf, swords still in hand and breathing heavily with exertion. He'd shed a considerable amount of clothing and yet, Fili hadn't gotten any lither. Bilbo looked at his sturdy body - packed with muscle from head to toe - and regretfully thought that an Age of practice would not make him even a fraction as strong or dangerous.

"Well, we can't all be warrior Dwarf princes, now can we?" Bilbo chuckled.

"No, but you can be good lads and pour me a tankard of that," Fili pointed the little barrel at Glorfindel's side with one of his swords. He saw Bilbo's jaw drop and realized that he'd just called an Elf Lord 'lad'. "Er... I beg your pardon, my Lord. That was... I meant no disrespect."

"And none was taken," Glofindel poured the young Dwarf a drink. He laughed and clasped Fili's shoulder. "Funny thing is... I don't think I've been called a lad since... oh, about ten thousand years ago."

Much to Bilbo's amusement, Fili proceeded to turn beet red, to the roots of his hair and whiskers.

* * *

**A/N: Uh-oh, what do we have here? Glorfindel lying through his teeth? Whoever would have thought?**


	11. Chapter 11

11.

"Did you notice something strange about this place?" Bofur asked.

Bilbo and the Dwarf were sitting on a bench in the little garden behind the guest house they were lodged in. Before them, a little stream gurgled among white rose bushes and rushed to meet the greater falls below.

"I mean, there's a lot that's queer about this place. For one thing, it's like time isn't going anywhere. By my count, we've been here for over a week, but it could have been last year or just yesterday."

Bilbo saw his friend's usually cheerful expression turned pensive.

"It is strange, yes. But not in an unpleasant way," he said.

"Aye, not unpleasant. Just... you could lose years of your life just going about staring at things and wouldn't even know it. And the Elves... they're also moving at an odd pace. They're never in a hurry."

"I suppose they don't have to hurry. They've got all the time in the world, after all."

"True that," Bofur said. His hands were working as he spoke, carving a little piece of wood into what as beginning to resemble a toy horse. "They're also smiling at us all the time. Sometimes I think they're treating us like children."

"I don't believe they mean any offense to us. If you think about it right, we _are_ children in their eyes. What is a lifetime of mine or yours to people that count the passing of time in thousands of years?" Bilbo said.

"When you say it like that... Oh, this reminds me what I wanted to say in the first place. I haven't seen any children here. Have you?"

Bilbo rubbed his forehead, sifting through all the Elves he had met. Bofur was right!

"I can't say that I have."

"Neither have I and the lads have been roaming all over the place without seeing a single Elf child. Plenty of Elven maids, but not one little babe."

"Maybe they've all grown up?"

"Could be. Isn't it queer, though? Your Shire was full of chubby, curly little boys and girls... even through they gave us a wide berth as we passed through. Do you remember?" Bofur smiled under his long whiskers, chipping away at the toy in his hand.

"How could I forget? I'm probably still the talk of all four Farthings. Strange Bilbo Baggins who went on an adventure," Bilbo laughed.

"And the even stranger Dwarves who made him do it... Do you miss your home, my friend?"

"Of course I do. Although it's hard to be homesick in a place like this. What about you? Did you leave anyone behind... if I may ask?"

"Ask away! And the answer to that would be no. If you mean a lass or perhaps a little Dwarf to make trinkets like this for," Bofur held up the wooden horse, squinting at it. "I've no family like that, although I would not mind one someday."

"You are still young... I think," Bilbo smiled sheepishly.

"Younger at heart than in looks, but still a charming rascal, I know," Bofur winked. "Maybe...if we have some kind of success on this quest, I suppose I'll stop dragging my brothers with me all over the place for good pipe-weed and free beer."

"Hahaha, that... sounds like a plan. What about the others? Most of them are not fond of small talk and some I wouldn't even dream of asking. Is anyone else other than Gloin married?"

"No. Not that I know of. But it's not an uncommon thing. There aren't that many Dwarf women to chose from and even those few might decide they like their independence more than married life. Besides, who would be crazy enough to take up with bottomless-pit Bombur and our endearingly crazy elder brother? I am charming, but not THAT charming."

Bilbo mirrored Bofur's broad smile, but he could see a hint of longing in the Dwarf's eyes. Pursuing the matter any further would be prying and Bilbo enjoyed the easy camaraderie between them too much to spoil it.

"What about Thorin?" he asked instead. "He is a king. I'm sure there's no shortage of suitors for him."

"I'm certain of it too, but the way I see it, finding a mate never even crossed Thorin's mind. He's too wrapped up in his family drama and the duty he feels that he's got to carry out. Besides, he's got the lads to take his place when his time comes. That settles the need for producing an heir. I reckon if Thorin had that weight on his shoulders too, he'd just about buckle."

On one hand, Bilbo felt for the exiled king and thought that part of his tale especially sad. On the other hand, Bilbo could sympathize. He'd been pestered about taking a wife and doing what all respectable Hobbits did after a certain age. Yet there Bilbo was, further away from that fate than he had ever hoped to be. He meant to say something along those lines, but Bofur shushed him.

"Look over there!" he whispered, pointing to the retreating back of Thorin Oakenshield.

The Dwarf in question had probably descended from his chambers and was going somewhere all on his own.

"Where do you suppose he's off to?" Bofur wondered.

Bilbo shrugged, watching Thorin disappear down a flight of steps. He gaped when Bofur jumped off the bench and started after Thorin.

"You mean to follow him?"

"Of course I mean to follow him. Hurry!"

For a loud, lumbering Dwarf, Bofur was quite adept at sneaking around quietly when he meant to. Bilbo watched him duck behind anything that could pass for shelter as they tracked Thorin down. Granted, the Dwarf in question appeared so deep in thought that wild horses could have galloped by and he'd have been none the wiser. That was until he heard a faint but rhythmic clang coming from behind a copse of trees.

"Bofur, hold on!" Bilbo hissed, yanking the Dwarf behind an ivy-covered gazebo. "He's stopped! What's that?"

Like Thorin, they both listened carefully.

"I'd say that's a hammer at work, but... Look, Thorin's heading that way!" Bofur stepped out of cover and motioned Bilbo to follow.

The noise became louder and more distinctive as Thorin - with his pursuers in tow - made his way along a path through the trees and came into a clearing. A few steps behind him, Bilbo and Bofur crouched in the bushes, peering through the leaves. They'd come down to the forges and workshops and Bilbo recalled Gandalf saying something about Elven smiths and a new scabbard for Glamdring.

Bilbo saw over a dozen identical houses spread in a semi-circle around an open forge. While their build retained the elegance and flowery detail of all Elven dwellings, it wasn't difficult to see that the workshops had been constructed for more practical purposes. Some of them had sections of walls missing or removed and Bilbo could see inside. But there were no Elves at work that day... or that time of day, at least. Except the one pounding away with his hammer.

"I think it's...," Bilbo whispered, but Bofur hushed him.

"Oh, it's you," they heard Thorin saying.

The hammer faltered and Bilbo saw the dark-haired Elf straighten himself. It was Curufinwë, the older one, clad in a sleeveless tunic and a long apron of the same undefined color as his breeches, his hair tied back in a loose ponytail.

"Thorin Oakenshield," he said by way of greeting.

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," the Elf's eyebrow rose for a moment and then he made to resume his work.

"I was walking. I heard a noise," Thorin told him.

Bofur poked Bilbo's side and rolled his eyes.

"This looks promising," he mouthed.

Bilbo nudged him to be quiet.

"What are you making?" Thorin stepped closer to the massive anvil where a large piece of metal still glowed dully.

"I don't know. Not yet. I'm hammering on this bit of iron and waiting for it to tell me what it wants to become."

Torin stood facing away from Bilbo, but it wasn't hard to imagine his scowl. Surely the Elf was mocking him or at least the Dwarf king would take such an answer that way. But he said nothing, merely stood there, his back straight and shoulders rigid.

"I find that forge work calms me," Curufinwë raised his hammer and smote the metal with a loud bang. "It's never aimless, though, sooner or later, it comes to me. The finished work, I mean. I see it and then..."

Curufinwë probably noticed some peculiar expression on Thorin's face and set his tongs aside, abandoning the cooling metal.

"You think this is Elvish madness, don't you?" he twirled a gloved finger near his temple to underline the point.

"I did not say those words," Thorin replied.

"You were thinking them. But tell me, you are familiar with the forge, are you not?"

"I would not call myself a Dwarf if I were not. Although, I do not have much skill by the standards of my people."

Bilbo glanced at Bofur and received a shrug in return.

"Still, you had to make due and I hear you've done remarkably well for your people even as a blacksmith. Don't bristle, Master Dwarf, I mean you no insult. There is no shame in honest work. It is never demeaning, not even for a king."

"It is not," Thorin said roughly.

"No. And let me tell you what else I believe. You never truly own anything until you can make it yourself."

"Is that so? Well, what can you make? Are you also a blacksmith?"

"I am... many-a-smith," Curufinwë replied lightly. "I do have some skill by the standards of my people, although I am no Fëanor," he smiled. "Do you wish to join me? It truly does have spectacular effects on one's mood."

Thorin was silent, but appeared to be weighing the offer. At last, he nodded and rolled up the sleeves of his blue tunic.

"Alright. But I can't work at the anvil. All this is built for you tall people."

"Man the bellows, then. We'll see about a bench or something you can stand on later. Here," the Elf gave Thorin his hammer and pulled a thin leather cord from a pocket of his apron.

"This is heavy," Thorin weighed the hammer appreciatively.

"I am not lightweight," Curufinwë smirked.

He gave Thorin the cord and the Dwarf quickly tied his own hair back. Then, Thorin walked behind the huge bellows and although the position was not very comfortable for him, he began to fan the fire.

"Well bless me!" Bofur whispered. "I do believe we're getting somewhere."

Bilbo's lips tucked into a smile but he said nothing.

"So, what are we making?" he heard Curufinwë ask as he picked up the shapeless piece of iron and laid it into the fire.

Thorin - who's face Bilbo could partially see - narrowed his eyes for a moment.

"A dragon," he said. "We're making a dragon."

"Very well," the Elf agreed, his light tone a contrast to the deep rasp of Thorin's heated answer.

"Do you know what a dragon looks like? Have you ever seen one?"

"No. I have not. The Black Foe unleashed his winged dragons long after I ceased being able to see one, much less fight it. A slight benefit of being dead, I suppose."

Thorin's nostrils flared, but he bit back whatever he'd wanted to grind out. Like Bilbo, he wasn't sure whether the Elf was genuine in his words, or subtly mocking him.

"Will you show me what Smaug the Terrible looks like?" Curufinwë asked him.

"We will need bronze and gold," Thorin said, seemingly shaking off his misgivings.

"We shall have them."

"Do you think the Lord of the House will spare gold for a fancy like this?"

"He will be honored to," Curufinwë declared confidently.

If Thorin thought it strange, he made no mention of it. Instead, he applied himself to working the bellows, while Curufinwë picked up his tongs and turned the iron over.

"I think it's best we leave now, before they start debating the properties of alloys and whatnot," Bofur winked, elbowing Bilbo gently.

"Or before they catch us."

"That, too. Come on, we've got to tell the others a miracle just happened."

With one last glance at the unlikely pair of blacksmiths at work, Bilbo slipped back through the trees. The hammer resumed booming while he and Bofur were still within earshot, making the Dwarf grin.

"Well, Bilbo my friend, I do believe the odds for our extended company have just gone up."

* * *

**A/N 1: This is probably the point where Thorin begins to realize that he and those Elves have THINGS in common (le gasp!). Nothing like some manly hammering at the forge to help them bond, eh?**

**A/N 2: I apologize for the confusion caused by Fëanor's odd sense of humor. He was having a private little joke at Thorin's expense by saying "I do have some skill by the standards of my people, although I am no Fëanor" *shrug* Sly Elf!  
**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I have shamelessly stolen and reproduced lines of song from "The Hobbit", Chapter 1, for the purposes of this story. I mean no harm and seek no profit other than the pleasure of picturing the Dwarves sing.**

* * *

12.

The Hall of fire was Bilbo's favorite place in Rivendell. He had stepped into it quite accidentally, while exploring the Last Homely House and he had made sure to return at least once a day since. The hall was long and dark, lit only by a fire that the Elves tended all year round. But it was an inviting kind of darkness - that of peace and quiet thought when one needed it and wondrous music when the heart craved for it.

Bilbo had run into Canafinwë in the Hall of Fire more often than not. He appeared to have been adopted by Lord Elrond's minstrels and invited to sing every evening. The haunting experience of Weathertop made Bilbo reluctant to hear him again, but, before long, he sat in rapt silence, completely caught in the emotions Canafinwë's voice conjured. Bilbo did not have to understand the words, the power behind them was enough to transport him far back into the depths of time, to worlds beyond the limits of his imagination. And even if the musician's voice retained its gut-wrenching quality, Bilbo found sweetness and beauty and joy behind all the sorrow in it.

Bilbo often fell asleep in a cushioned alcove he'd discovered, for the Elves made their music long into the night. He would wake up in tucked in his bed, not knowing who to thank for carrying him from the hall with such great care.

For Dwarves however, Elvish music wasn't nearly as fascinating. They said it hurt the heart and eventually, the ears as well. Seeing how they carried various musical instruments with them and Bilbo had witnessed the quality of their singing in Bag End, he thought it best not to argue with them on the matter.

On one particularly fair evening, after a particularly good meal (the Elven cooks had admitted Bombur into their kitchens and had prepared one of his Dwarvish recipes), the company lounged on the balcony and Thorin called for some music.

One by one, the others brought out their instruments and Nori began a merry tune on his flute. His brothers joined him and Bombur tapped the rhythm of it on his drum. Fili and Kili played their fiddles to enhance the tune and Bilbo smiled at them. It was odd but refreshing to see the brothers otherwise than armed to the teeth and wielding instruments that were not made for killing.

Bifur and Bofur's clarinets joined in and all the Dwarves (even Thorin) tapped their booted feet against the marble floor to the song's cheerful tune. Bilbo thought it a great shame that there was nobody to dance with. He made a mental note to have Ori teach him the song sometime. It must have been well known and well practiced by his friends, as each played his part in perfect harmony with the others. They began to sing as well, all their different voices mixing wonderfully in a cheerful choir.

Apparently, the Elves thought the same. After a few songs, Bilbo noticed a throng of them gawking and whispering among themselves beneath the balcony. The laughed and cheered the Dwarves, asking for more songs and then repeats of each. In the end, they consented to let their guests rest only after the Dwarves promised they would play for them in the Hall of Fire.

And so, the following evening found the entire company in the fire-lit hall with what seemed like half of Lord Elrond's house and the Lord himself in attendance. To Bilbo's surprise, Thorin had brought with him his golden harp. But, for the better part of the evening, he sat aside with the harp on his knees and sometimes nodded along with the songs of his kinsmen.

"You play the harp?" Canafinwë asked him when the singing came to a halt. He and he other minstrels had brought refreshments for the Dwarves and Canafinwë placed a golden cup in Thorin's hands.

"Sometimes," Thorin nodded.

Perched in his favorite nook, Bilbo could only just hear the exchange through the low murmur of many Elven voices.

Canafinwë seemed to weigh the delicate instrument against Thorin's thick-fingered hands.

"May I?" he reached out for the harp and Thorin parted with it after a moment of hesitation. "It's a wonderful instrument. Exquisite craftsmanship. Perfect tune," the Elf plucked a few notes delicately. The harp seemed small in his arms.

"Do you play as well?" Thorin watched him carefully.

"I do, when I can," Canafinwë replied. " Which is not very often. My harp is not something I can carry with me into the wild. But perhaps, while we are here, we could… That is, if you will, perhaps we can play something together?"

There was a sudden lull in the murmured conversations around them.

"I doubt we will find a song that we both know," Thorin said.

"You might be surprised. And if not, you will just have to teach me one of yours, " Canafinwë suggested with a smile, in all likelihood aware that many pairs of eyes rested on the two of them.

"We shall see," Thorin replied noncommittally.

At least he hadn't flat-out refused, Bilbo thought. Although Canafinwë's suggestion didn't seem to hold the same appeal to Thorin as his father's forge-work had.

Canafinwë tilted his head in acknowledgement and then stepped aside, allowing Thorin to join is company. Everyone in the Hall watched the Dwarves gather around their leader and exchange whispers among themselves. They let Thorin walk closer to the fire and returned to their seats a few moments later.

Slowly and almost inaudibly at first, the Dwarves began to hum. All other noise had ceased and their voice's gradually grew louder. Thus accompanied, Thorin sang.

_Far over the misty mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away ere break of day_

_To seek the pale enchanted gold._

The words were in the Common Tongue, but his deep voice gave them a mournful quality that touched everyone in attendance.

_The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,_

_While hammers fell like ringing bells_

_In places deep, where dark things sleep,_

_In hollow halls beneath the fells._

By the second stanza, Bofur joined him and Fili also, with his softer and lighter voice.

_For ancient king and Elvish lord_

_There many a gloaming golden hoard_

_They shaped and wrought, and light they caught_

_To hide in gems on hilt of sword._

It was solemn moment that grew with the words the Dwarves chanted. Their longing for the treasure they had lost and their pride for the wealth they had possessed rang clear in every line of their dirge.

But many of the Elves gasped when Thorin stepped closer to the fire and sang the chorus in his own tongue. The other Dwarves faltered, too surprised to carry on the words or the tune. For a few moments, Thorin's deep, harsh voice alone held everyone in thrall. Bilbo felt himself shiver and tears pricked his eyes.

Fili and Kili sat up and walked to their uncle's side, singing the rest of the song with him. Half facing the fire and half the crowd, they chanted the last verses slowly and then fell silent.

Bilbo blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his eyes and take in the sight of Durin's heirs. In that very moment, they looked every inch the Dwarf Lords they were, their faces grave and their shadows long before them.

Nobody in the room clapped or cheered as they had noisily done it before. Only the crackling of the fire broke an otherwise absolute silence. From it, Lord Elrond rose and walked to the three Dwarves, bowing deeply.

"You do us great honor, Thorin Oakenshield," he said. "Not since time beyond count have I heard the tongue of your people in such moving song."

Bilbo recalled something Gandalf had mentioned about Dwarves being very secretive with their language… or had he read it in a book somewhere? I was something about how you did not want to hear a Dwarf speaking his own tongue because it meant either cursing you violently or yelling fierce battle cries and meaning to kill you very violently.

But Bilbo saw Thorin return the bow, a rare smile on his face. His nephews did the same and stood by their uncle proudly, obviously pleased.

"It was in Eregion that I last heard your forefathers sing in Celebrimbor's halls, Thorin."

At Lord Elrond's words, there was a shuffle and a small gasp near Bilbo. He glanced to his right and saw Curufinwë with his father. Bilbo had no idea how or when they'd gotten there.

"In those days, the People of the Jewelsmiths always welcomed their friends from Khazad-dum, for they loved our ale and we loved their hearty laughter. We had much profit from one another in those days, shared wealth and knowledge aside. That is when I learned your ancient tongue," Lord Elrond said. "Ah, yes, the Dwarves had fewer secrets in those days," the Elf Lord smiled at Thorin's surprised expression. "They were willing to teach us, but found it much easier to learn our speech than we did theirs. Celebrimbor was the exception, of course, being his father' son and so supremely gifted, but even he could not sing in Khuzdul. He tried, of course, but a well aimed tankard silenced him once, I recall. We never knew who did it, it may have been Narvi himself or someone else. But after that, even Fëanor's grandson understood his limitations."

Some of the Elves chuckled and Thorin's slack jaw made an amusing sight in and of its own. But Bilbo heard Curufinwë sigh. He glanced at the two Elves and saw father embracing son. Curufinwë's face seemed lined with sorrow and his eyes filled with painful longing, before he closed them and laid his head on his father's shoulder.

"You lived in the City at that time?" Thorin recovered some composure and asked.

"No, my home was in Lindon, at King Gil-Galad's side, but I was in Ost-in-Edhil often enough to befriend the visiting craftsmiths from Khazad-dum."

"Then perhaps…," Thorin hesitated, giving the Elf Lord an uncertain look. "Perhaps you can tell me more about my forefathers?"

Kili and Fili drew closer, ready to repeat the plea, although the anticipation on their faces spoke for itself.

"It would be my pleasure," Lord Elrond said. "But we must remove ourselves from this hall for that. Story telling is thirsty business, I am told, both for the teller and for his audience. Anyone who cares to join us is most welcome," Lord Elrond turned to the silent assembly.

He beckoned Thorin to follow him and if the Dwarf was unhappy about the Lord's open invitation, he showed no outward sign of it. They walked out of the hall with Fili and Kili at their heels.

Their friends let fall their musical instruments and hurried after them, followed by a great number of the Elves.

Bilbo hopped off his perch and sped in the same direction. But as he tried to wriggle through the throng of sweeping robes, he was puzzled. He'd passed by Curufinwë and his father still standing in the same spot, holding onto each other. Bilbo could have sworn he'd seen the younger Elf's shoulders shake, while his father petted him soothingly.

* * *

**A/N: I know I've put myself in the ridiculous predicament of having two sets of characters with the same name (Ambarussa and Curufinwë) but it's beginning to irk me as much as it probably irks you, dear readers. I shall have to remedy this very, very soon.**


	13. Chapter 13

13.

Bilbo didn't like to think of himself as meddlesome. On the contrary, he knew how to mind his business as well as anybody. It was not his fault that he had an observant and inquisitive nature. Or that being so small made him easy to overlook, especially by all the big and important people around him.

He didn't mean to pry, but as the days went by one after the other, there was something in the back of Bilbo's mind that simply would not let him be. He'd lived with that niggling feeling for weeks and just when he'd thought himself free of it, Bilbo found it rising to the forefront of his mind once more. Something was amiss. Something that sat right before his eyes, right under his nose and yet he kept on missing it.

The feeling rushed over Bilbo with staggering intensity when he happened upon a strange sight one morning. He was on his way to practice with Glorfindel and Thorin's nephews, when he turned his head at just the right moment and saw two still shapes on a little bridge. Bilbo would have dismissed them as ornaments, gods knew he had greeted statues before in Elrond's house, but one of the statues on that bridge looked remarkably like Curufinwë. The elder, Bilbo groaned inwardly, thinking that it was time to find a nick-name for the two Elves. But something more polite than Red One and Red Two, as Kili had jokingly called Ambarussa behind their backs.

Bilbo's eyes narrowed when he saw that it was indeed Curufinwë on the stone arch, but before him stood a lady almost as tall as him. Slender, clad in white and golden haired she was, lit with a shimmer brighter than the patch of sunlight both Elves were in. Still as marble carvings, the two stared into each other's eyes intently. Strands of hair flew in their faces in the brisk morning breeze, but they paid no heed.

Curufinwë's face darkened and his eyes glinted in a way that made Bilbo's breath catch in his throat. Even from an appreciable distance, he could sense the intensity of that look and he suddenly felt the need to hide, lest the eyes should seek and find him. Nor did he wish to be at the mercy of the ice in the Lady's eyes.

For a long time those two fixed each other with deadly stares, in a silent struggle that Bilbo wished he'd never witnessed. Then, a warning rose in his mind. He knew beyond doubt that he was looking at the Lady of the Golden Wood and it was true, an Elf so fair and so pure-looking was indeed capable of hatred. She glowed with it!

Bilbo turned on his heels and sped off, determined to get as far away from the cold Elf Lady as possible. With the corner of his eye, she caught her finally lowering her head, giving in before Curufinwë and turning away. Good, Bilbo thought.

And yet…

The incident would have passed out of his mind, if Bilbo hadn't heard Gandalf speaking about the Lady of Lothlorien later that day. Apparently, there were important matters that needed to be taken care of the following morning and when Bilbo wanted to know what that was all about, Gandalf dismissed him rather impatiently, saying it was no business for small Hobbits to concern themselves with.

Very well, Bilbo said to himself and proceeded to seek his information elsewhere. His Elven friends, however, had vanished again, all of them gone hunting, apparently.

That night, Bilbo tossed and turned and barely slept. He did not like being dragged into adventures and then treated like a child. Most of all, he disliked the growing feeling that he was missing something, that it simply didn't add up when it damned well should have.

Again, Bilbo would have let it pass, having spent the whole following day sketching with Ori and comparing notes, but he'd run out of paper and, when Bilbo ran to the library to get some more parchment, there were familiar voices arguing in there.

Tucked behind the heavy folds of a velvet curtain, Bilbo heard Lord Elrond and Curufinwë (very much present and not gone hunting after all) speaking to each other in the High Tongue. Unfamiliar names like_ Curumo_ and _Artanis_ and _Fëanáro_ and _Olorin_ were tossed back and forth, although Bilbo remembered the last as belonging to Gandalf. Curufinwë sounded impatient and frustrated, while Lord Elrond tried to reason with him.

Bilbo shifted from one foot to another, realizing that he'd be none the wiser if he kept listening to that unintelligible babble. He was wondering how to surface and make it look as though he were not spying when he heard it again… _Fëanáro_.

What in the name of all things good and holy…? What did it remind him of?

When the last bell rang clearly in his mind, Bilbo's heart almost stopped. He clutched the curtain with one hand and steadied himself. His knees wobbled and he locked them together, staring at the curtain underside with wide, unseeing eyes.

Of course… Of course! There it was, that little bit of string Bilbo needed to pull on and unravel the whole thing. _Fëanáro_. Lord Elrond was calling the Elf before him Fëanáro. That sounded very much like _Fëanor._ Too much.

It took the bewildered Hobbit quite a while before he dared to move and even longer before he realized the two Elves had left.

He was too caught up in wracking his brain for the bits of Elvish history he could remember and matching them to all the clues he'd been given. Suddenly, it all added up in a way that made Biblo groan at himself. How had he not seen it before?

It was madness, of course, and until Rivendell, Bilbo hadn't believed in living legends. But he was taking fencing lessons from one, for crying out loud! Why could the others not be the same? What was it that Glorfindel had said about them, that they'd been members of his House in Gondolin?

Bilbo shook himself and yanked the curtain aside, determination to get to the bottom of the prolonged mystery winning over the mystification which threatened to keep him rooted to the spot. He blinked repeatedly, relieved that he was all alone in the hallway, but no less determined.

Steeling himself, Bilbo knocked on the wide library doors and immediately, an Elf came to open them. He was thin and pale and almost white-haired, yet beautiful in an utterly Elvish way. But Bilbo had no time to marvel at the librarian's beauty. He named himself and promptly forgot the name the Elf gave him in return. But the politeness deeply ingrained in him made it possible for Bilbo to state his purpose calmly.

Bemused, but pleased to see the Hobbit's interest in Elvish lore, the librarian led him up the curved stairs and past a pedestal shaped like a woman holding something in her arms. Through a set of smaller doors they went together, and the Elf motioned Bilbo to take a seat at one of the small tables in the room.

There were shelves upon shelves stacked with books and scrolls there. At any other time, Bilbo would have thought himself in paradise and would have probably jumped for joy, but an impatient frown creased his brow, until the Elf came back with a large, heavily ornate book.

"Do you need help reading this?" the librarian said.

"Yes, I'm afraid I don't know a lot of Elvish."

"I would be very surprised if they taught little Hobbits of the Shire the High Tongue. But here," the Elf turned the cover and revealed a first page almost filled with script in dark ink. "The book has been translated and transliterated for the use of our Dunedáin friends, although they are taught both forms of Elvish from early age. What you are looking for should be toward the end of the book, together with sketches of the genealogies. I must say, I am very surprised that you would take such an interest in the House of Finwë."

"Well, I am a guest in the house of one descending from that line, am I not? I have heard Lord Elrond tell tales of his distant past and I wish to learn more," Bilbo said, wondering at the inspiration that possessed him.

"That is good, little scholar. We are always pleased when others take interest in our histories. Shall I leave you to it?"

"Please. And thank you kindly for your assistance."

"I will be downstairs. Ring that bell if you need anything," the librarian pointed to a small sliver bell on the table.

"Thank you," Bilbo nodded, mentally urging the Elf to be gone. He began leafing through the book, eyes blind to the artwork framing each page. Runes, more runes, slanted this way and that, a spidery hand that made no sense and finally, writing that Bilbo could understand.

There they finally were, black on white, clear as daylight and Bilbo could not hold back a bark of incredulous laughter. Seven sons and their father. All of them giving their names in the High Tongue and counting on the clueless Dwarves to never figure it out.

_Curufinwë_… Both Fëanor and Curufin, his favorite son.

Amrod and Amras the twins, under their shared mother name _Ambarussa_.

_Canafinwë_… Maglor the minstrel. Of course! How could he have been so blind?

_Carnistir_ for Caranthir and _Maitimo _for Maedhros.

_Tyelkormo_ was the only name Bilbo thought he had no reason to berate himself for failing to figure out. Although it did sound suspiciously like _Celegorm_.

He finally had it, the answer to that vague sensation he'd experienced since he'd found those Elves before his door. Fëanor and his sons, under true names but names given to confuse, following Thorin Oakenshield on his quest to the Lonely Mountain for… what purpose?

There was another riddle, possibly the greatest of them all and Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose, sensing a headache coming on. He nearly fell out of his seat when a dark shape loomed over him, blocking out the light.

"Bilbo Baggins, that is some peculiar lecture you have taken interest in."

Swallowing convulsively, Bilbo tried to straighten himself and give the newcomer a look that didn't scream being caught doing something he was not supposed to do.

"Um… yes. I suppose…," Bilbo stammered.

"The House of Fëanor, mmm?" the Elf tapped one slender finger on the page in question. "Interesting."

Bilbo had some difficulty putting a name to the dark haired Elf looming over him. He'd seen him before, at Lord Elrond's table and… in Curufinwë's company. No. _Fëanor's _company.

"Well, pardon the interruption. I was intrigued. It's not everyday a scholar from the land of the Halflings comes into our library, wishing to study our people's genealogies. Carry on," the Elf stepped back. "Excuse me, there is something I must take care of. Have a pleasant lecture," he said and something about his dark, almond-shaped eyes did not sit well with Bilbo.

However, a moment later, the Elf was gone and Bilbo returned his attention to the page before him. The more he looked at those names, the more obvious it became. But even with the evidence under his nose, Bilbo couldn't quite wrap his mind around what it meant.

Too many Elves come back from the dead… when and what for? Who could he ask? Who would be truthful? Glorfindel? No, Glorfindel had already lied. Gandalf? But Gandalf had brought those Elves into Bilbo's house to begin with. Lord Elrond? But they'd been in his house for almost three weeks and surely the Elf Lord knew his… distant kinsmen? Wasn't that what Gandalf had called them?

Who could Bilbo talk to? Who wasn't part of what Bilbo didn't quite dare to call conspiracy, but it was beginning to resemble one in frightening detail. Who…?

The white Lady! The one he'd been told to stay away from! Galadriel from the books, their cousin. She would tell the truth.

Bilbo sprang from his seat and all but flew down the stairs, ignoring the blond librarian and his alarmed calls. The Hobbit ran through the double doors and into the curved hallway, unsure where he was going, but hurrying there nonetheless. He didn't run into anyone who could give him some idea about where he might find Elves from the Golden Wood, but sooner or later, some smiling, helpful face would show up. They always did.

Bilbo was almost outside, meaning to pelt out of the library building and head for the kitchens, when a pair of hands grabbed him and yanked him back forcefully. Shadow fell around him in the form of a cloak and he was pulled back against someone's hard chest.

"Where do you think you're going, you meddlesome little Hobbit?" a familiar voice hissed in Bilbo's ear. Tyelkormo. No, _Celegorm._

His final burst of energy at an end, Bilbo fell limp against the Elf. He didn't scream or struggle. He didn't have the strength or the wit to say a single word. In a stupor, Bilbo let himself be picked up and carried like so much luggage, he had no idea where. He merely wished that he did not have to find out.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N 1: And now we come to it! The big reveal. Beware the long chapter ahead and I hope it does not disappoint. **

**A/N 2: It is also the time to leave behind those confusing Quenya names, which is to say that I will be using the Sindarin versions of Fëanorian names from now on. Except when they speak to each other, when they might use the nicknames Tolkien himself has devised for them. Those are ...  
**

**Nelyo = Maedhros  
**

**Káno= Maglor  
**

**Turko = Celegorm  
**

**Moryo = Caranthir  
**

**Curvo = Curufin  
**

**Pityo = Amrod  
**

**Telvo = Amras  
**

**and Fëanor will be referred to as _atar_, which is the Quenya version for father.  
**

* * *

14.

"Let me go! For crying out loud, where are you taking me?!" Bilbo had found his voice at last and began to struggle in Celegorm's grasp. He felt himself maneuvered through a door and then the Elf kicked it shut. "Put me down right now!"

With an undignified ooompf, Bilbo landed on something soft.

"There, you're down."

Celegorm had thrown him on a bed, somewhere in a room not unlike his own. Bilbo rolled off it and sprang to his feet, looking around himself with wide eyes.

"Nice catch, brother. But I didn't know you had a thing for furry little Hobbits. You are more deviant I'd imagined," another Elf's voice startled Bilbo and he saw the one he'd known as Carnistir perched on the wide windowsill.

"Oh, shut up! This is no time for your sick jokes. We have a situation here," Celegorm retorted.

Amras and Amrod burst through the door without knocking a moment later.

"What is it? What's gotten Erestor in such a twist?" Amrod asked. "Oh, Bilbo. Hello."

The blond rubbed his forehead and groaned, clearly wanting to shower his younger brothers with colorful endearments.

"Surely dear Erestor has told you that he caught Bilbo nosing through our family tree. Game's up, little brothers. He knows about us."

"Hmm," the twins exchanged a glance and then eyed Bilbo doubtfully.

"What are you still standing there for?! Go get Atar and Nelyo. And find that scatterbrain Káno too, while you're at it!" Celegorm growled at his brothers. He sounded vastly different from the cheerful, friendly Elf that Bilbo had come to like so much.

"Damn, who died and put you in charge?" Amras rolled his eyes and from the window, Caranthir chuckled throatily.

"Just go. We'll look after Bilbo in the mean time," Celegorm sighed.

"Are you sure you can hold the fort while we're gone? Bilbo's so small and clever and you're both so big and stupid, he might just give you the slip," Amrod suggested, clearly not as pressed by whatever possessed their older brother.

"Not now, gods damn you! Not now," Celegorm waived them out with an angry sweep of his hand.

Bilbo had watched the entire exchange in stupefied silence. His eyes ran back and forth between the frown on Celegorm's face and the dark scowl on Caranthir's. For the first time, he began to feel afraid.

"What… are you going to do to me?" he coughed, backing into the tall bed behind him.

"Do to you? Bilbo Baggins, you wound me," Celegorm's expression suddenly morphed to his most charming smile. "Nobody is going to do anything to you. We're just going to sit here and have a nice, long conversation."

"But I don't…"

"Sshh, hold your arguments until the others arrive. It won't do to have you repeating yourself."

With that, Celegorm pulled a seat and made himself comfortable in it, legs crossed and watching Bilbo with mild curiosity.

"Aah, atar," Caranthir hopped off the windowsill, greeting a frowning Fëanor as he entered the room. "Nelyo, Káno, you two pests and useless little Curufinwë. You're all here."

Curufin walked past his brother with a dark sneer and promptly took his seat by the window. He didn't spare Bilbo one glance, to the Hobbit's relief.

"So, our clever little burglar has finally shown his mettle," Fëanor focused on him instead and for a moment, Bilbo thought he was going to faint. Not necessarily because the Elf's expression was threatening, but because it dawned on Bilbo just who it was that stood before him. He clutched the bedding in his hands and forced himself to meet Fëanor's eyes.

"I was beginning to give up hope, but here you are," the Elf said. "Come now, don't look so frightened. We're not going to eat you. And we're not mad at you either. In fact, I'm rather proud of you."

As Bilbo's eyes darted from one face to the other, he found it hard to believe what Fëanor was saying. He saw annoyance and amusement and curiosity and carefully mimicked boredom and perhaps only Maedhros appeared genuinely concerned, but what did Bilbo know? He felt as though a veil had fallen from his eyes and he saw those Elves for the very first time."

"I thought we would have to draw you aside and give you a long history lesson," Celegorm told him. "But it was more fun to watch you trying to puzzle it out yourself."

"What?" Bilbo gaped. "You mean to say that… ?"

"Yes, yes, we've had our little game and took our time getting to know all of you, but of course we were going to tell you the truth. You're our burglar, after all."

All the air rushed out of Bilbo in an incredulous snort and he tore his eyes away from the blond. Maedhros and Fëanor, at least, appeared more serious and did not regard Bilbo as though he were some type of exotic animal, expected to perform for a treat.

"It wasn't exactly fair, but we could not just walk into your house, introduce ourselves by our own names and state our business clearly. Then, your little home would have truly turned into a bloody battlefield," Fëanor said. "You've seen how difficult Thorin Oakenshield is. Even knowing me under pretense, he's the most skittish and mistrusting person I've met in a long while. If he'd know who I really am, the chances of us striking the tentative friendship we are working on at the moment would be nonexistent."

"But… it's a lie! You're all lying!" Bilbo finally exploded. "What do you want from us? Why are you doing all this?"

"Nelyo dear, I do believe it's time for that history lesson," Fëanor turned to his eldest. "Go on, he seems to fear you less."

Maedhros sighed and closed his eyes. Then, he brushed his father aside and knelt before Bilbo, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.

"Please, Bilbo. We mean you no harm. This whole affair is… questionable, to say the least. And my brother has the diplomatic skill of an ox," he spared Celegorm a disparaging glance. "We didn't mean to frighten you. I'm sorry."

Bilbo said nothing, merely cast the Elf a wary look. He could not back away any further and thus, he resigned himself to whatever Maedhros had to say.

"We really did mean to tell you the whole truth, but wanted to give ourselves some time before that happened. You see, Bilbo, we need you to do something for us. We may have not been exactly truthful when we said to Thorin Oakenshield that we do not desire his treasure."

"I knew it!" Bilbo hissed, before he could check himself.

"No, you're wrong, Nelyo. _I_ didn't lie," Fëanor cut in. "I don't want Thorin's treasure, is _MY_ treasure that I am after."

"That's right, forgive me," Maedhros nodded. "The Dwarves have… or rather, used to have, something that belongs to us. They call it the Arkenstone, the heart of their mountain. But what they don't know is this… The Heart of Thorin's mountain is one of our Silmarils."

Bilbo was sure he hadn't heard right. It couldn't be. He took a few shallow breaths and watched the Elf's face swim before his eyes. A what?!

"Give the Hobbit a glass of water," Fëanor said. "Or wine. He looks ready to pass out on us."

"Can you blame him?" Maedhros asked. He took the goblet one of his brothers had filled and held it out to Bilbo.

Hardly in control of all his senses (common sense at the fore!), Bilbo took the drink and downed more than a few mouthfuls before he could think better of it. The liquid was clear and sweet, a honey-colored wine that went through Bilbo with a pleasant wave of heat. His head stopped swimming and he could finally see only one Maedhros before him.

"I'm sorry. Did you just say something about a Silmaril?"

"Yes."

Bilbo rolled his eyes and promptly emptied the goblet.

"I must be losing my mind," he muttered, much to the amusement of several Elves in the room.

"Bilbo, listen," Maedhros reached out for him, but thought better of it and let his hand fall. "I know it is hard to believe. I am not convinced myself, not until I see this Arkenstone with my own eyes. But hear me out. I gather now that you are familiar with the making of the Silmarils and our histories."

"Yes," Bilbo said.

"Then, you know they were stolen from us and the Enemy murdered our grandfather. You know what happened after, do you not?"

Bilbo nodded.

"You know we fled from Valinor seeking revenge and we were exiled for the cruel acts we were driven to commit. You know we also lost father and what my fate was."

Bilbo's eyes widened and for the first time, he noticed that Maedhros had two whole and unscarred hands.

"Yes, I have my hand back now," Maedhros flexed his fingers, as if he wished to reassure himself. "In Beleriand, though, I did not. But that did not stop me and my brothers from doing what we set out to do. We tried, Bilbo, all of us. For hundreds of years we built new homes for ourselves and we defended them, but the Enemy was always on our door step. And we had an Oath to fulfill. I will not recount to you the things both fair and foul that we have done in the name of this Oath. I think you know them yourself and even though history judges us unfairly at times, it does not lie. We killed, foes and friends alike, Elves and Men. It did not matter. We laid kingdoms to waste for our Silmarils and yet, they always eluded us. On the shores of the great Sea, we came to a last battle. By then, only four of us remained. Myself, Maglor and our youngest brothers. We won that battle, as we had won the other kinslayings before it, but at the cost of Ambarussa," Maedhros faltered and looked behind himself, checking for his little brothers with a pained look in his eyes.

"Enough with the dramatization, Nelyo! We know you can tell a good tale, but get to the point already," Caranthir muttered.

"Fine," Maedhros sighed. "Alright. The point is… Elwing, Lord Elrond's mother, cast herself into the sea that day. She would rather kill herself and drown our Jewel than let us have it. She left her young children behind for this. Such is the hold that a Silmaril will have on you. So, Maglor and myself, we took those children and raised them as our own, giving them whatever kindness there was still to be found in us. Elrond and his brother Elros were my sons."

"And mine," Maglor added, smiling softly in remembrance. "Our time with them was brief, but the roots of it run deep enough to hold even today. Elrond has welcomed us into his house like family now and he still thinks of me as Maglor-atar."

In spite of himself, Bilbo mirrored the Elf's smile. He'd seen Lord Elrond with his kinsmen and noticed his almost reverent joy to be among them, but it made so much more sense in light of what Bilbo had just heard.

"Yes, yes, very touching, but shall we move on?" Caranthir complained again.

"Morifinwë Carnistir, if you have nothing useful to say, hold your damned tongue!" Fëanor reprimanded him and it gave Bilbo a tiny hint of satisfaction when he saw the Elf's cheeks flare.

"Since my impatient little brother insists, I will only say this, Bilbo. Our time with Elrond and Elros was brief indeed, because at long last, the Powers of this World decided to do something. They'd stood by and let the Enemy destroy us in punishment for our rebellion, but at last, they threw him down and tore apart the lands we used to live in. They took the two remaining Silmarils from Morgoth's crown when they had it beaten into a collar for him, but we were still alive. We still had an Oath to fulfill. So, we resigned ourselves to death, Maglor and I. We broke into the camp and murdered the guards, taking with us each one Silmaril. But nobody hindered us or stopped our escape. I think they all knew our time had come and we would suffer a worse death than the blades of the Vanyar could give us. And so it was. The Silmaril I had taken burned by remaining hand, making it clear that I lost any claim to it. But the Oath was fulfilled and so, I could die. I could be with father and my brothers again."

"And I followed him soon after," Maglor picked up the tale, seeing his brother sigh and falter. "There, the tale of the Silmarils should have ended for us. We were dead, forever doomed to remain in the Halls of Mandos. The Jewels had each a place preordained: one in the airs, the other at the bottom of the sea and the third deep into the bowels of the earth."

"Which brings us to our current predicament," Fëanor said. "The Silmaril that Maedhros took with him into the bosom of the earth lay dormant there for thousands of years. It must have been carried through rivers of fire deep under the surface of the earth until one day. The Dwarves found it deep inside the cone of molten rock that Erebor once was."

The Elf paused, giving Bilbo a moment to process what he had heard. But the Hobbit couldn't say a word, too stunned by the unforeseen possibility. The empty goblet slipped from his hand and rolled under the bed unnoticed.

"What intrigues me the most…," Curufin hopped off the windowsill and made his way into the circle of his family members. "What I find to be more than just a happy coincidence is how we were released from Mandos _now _of all times. Just a hundred or so years ago. We were to stay in the Halls of Waiting until the end of the World, or so I'd been made to understand. And suddenly, we were offered a chance to come back among the living. Don't you find that odd?" he eyed Bilbo intently.

But the poor Hobbit would not have dared voice his opinion even if he had one.

"Even Morgoth got a second chance," Fëanor told his son, his voice tinged with bitterness. "They let him out and among us after three Ages. Why should we not be allowed to live again? Count the years and you will see, it has been three Ages of imprisonment for me as well. Little less for you, my sons. It was about damned time."

Bilbo flinched under the harsh tone, although it didn't seem to be directed at him. He watched Maedhros rise and give his father's shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"Now then," Celegorm also sat up. "You know our story. You know there is a Silmaril to be had out there. Any questions, Master Hobbit?"

Bilbo's mouth hung open and he must have looked like a proper idiot, standing there like a fish on dry land, but it had all been too much. All the wheels in his mind came to a screeching halt.

"No? Ah, well, perhaps I can lend a hand with that. Curvo, if you were Bilbo Baggins, what would you ask me now?"

Curufin smirked at his brother and then cleared his throat.

"I suppose… I would want to know how you're so sure the Dwarves' Arkenstone is a Silmaril," he said.

"Hmm, good question. I would say that Elrond has told us about it. He has been to the Lonely Mountain while it was still a mighty Dwarf kingdom and saw the Silmaril there," Celegorm answered, looking at Bilbo.

"And why didn't Elrond try to get it back? You know, in loving memory of our dear brothers."

"Would you risk theft and open war against a Dwarf kingdom in its prime? Elrond is no fool. Plus, no Oath binds him."

"Fair enough. Does any Oath bind us anymore?" Curufin inquired lightly. It was obvious that they'd played such games of rhetoric before, the two brothers.

"According to His Lordship Manwe and his Mightiness Mandos, we are not."

"So then, why do we even want the Silmaril anymore?"

"I don't know, you'll have to ask father," Celegorm smiled sheepishly, ducking a blow from the father in question.

"Don't be an idiot," Fëanor pulled him into a one-armed hug instead. "You know the Silmarils are my children. Just as much a part of me as you and these other oafs are. I could never leave one in some dark, slime-infested cave. Especially not when I have such a golden opportunity to retrieve it."

"I know that. I was just making sure that Bilbo understands as well," Celegorm smiled, staggering a bit when his father propelled him back toward his seat.

"I have a question too," Caranthir said. "What happens when the Dwarves find out we want and mean to take the Silmaril back?"

"That's the beauty of it," Curufin replied. "They won't know. And we're not stealing their treasure. It's not _stealing_ when the object in question was yours to begin with. That's why we need our little burglar. He'll be crucial to us if we don't want to start an unnecessary war. I would really hate it if that happened."

"A… war?" Bilbo's heart sank.

"What else do you expect? You don't think we can just go to Thorin Oakenshield and say 'hand over the Silmaril'. I know what you're thinking, perhaps if we explain everything to him, he will understand and we can find a peaceful solution to this problem. That is bloody unlikely! Nobody gives up a Silmaril. Nobody has ever done so willingly," Curufin said.

"You know Thorin well enough by now to realize he'd sooner die than relinquish his treasure. It wouldn't matter that it was never his. He'll say the Arkenstone is the legacy of his grandfather - of his people - and they will fight us to the last one before relinquishing it," Celegorm added. "I don't want to kill Thorin Oakenshield."

"But we will if we have to. Make no mistake about it. If it comes to it, we'll do it," Curufin's expression was deadly serious as he said so, leaning closer and towering over Bilbo.

"Nobody is going to kill anyone! We don't do that anymore," Fëanor cut in. "Back away, you vultures, you're terrifying poor Bilbo!"

Curufin walked back to the window with a shrug. But that didn't make Bilbo feel any better. What were they talking about? War? Killing? What madness was that?

"I think now, you have to understand why we haven't been completely truthful with you and the Dwarves, Bilbo," Fëanor mimicked his eldest son, crouching before the Hobbit in an attempt to appear less intimidating. "We can't tell him anything about the Silmaril. He must not know who we are and what we want from him on this quest. Everything must be handled with the utmost care and discretion, if we want to avoid a tragedy."

"What…?" Bilbo sucked in a deep breath. "What does this have to do with me? What do you want me to do?"

"Now we come to it. You're a good person, Bilbo. And a very smart one too. What we want from you should be fairly clear. First of all, you mustn't tell a word about this conversation to anyone. Much less Thorin Oakenshield. You must give absolutely nothing away. Do you understand?."

Bilbo nodded instinctively.

"We know about the map that Thorin carries and about the secret entrance into the Lonely Mountain. We know there is a key in Thorin's possession and that he awaits Midsummer's Day to learn more about the secret door. We also know Elrond will try to read that map for him. Once we have all the information we need, we can tell you more about what wish you to do for us. Until then, discretion is the key."

"We have not crafted such an elaborate lie, with so many people to back it up, only to have you give it away, not even by chance," Celegorm underlined his words with a threatening look.

"You are not helping," his father shot him an angry glance. "I don't believe we have to threaten Bilbo. He is intelligent enough to see for himself the consequences of what he means to say and do from now on. I think he will help us, for his friends' sake and not because we put the fear of death into him."

Bilbo wasn't stupid, though. Fëanor might have used honeyed words, but there was as much threat in them as if he had said it outright. The sudden rush of anger that swept him surprised Bilbo more than it did the Elves. He balled his hands into fists and felt heat rising in his cheeks.

"Speak plainly!" he found himself shouting. "Tell me what you expect me to do? Act as your spy? Steal the Arkenstone from Thorin? What?"

Fëanor averted his eyes and covered his smile with one hand.

"What a feisty little bugger," one of his sons said. "I like it."

"Enough," Fëanor said, still smiling, but Bilbo could not help thinking it was the toothy grin of a predator. "I'll tell you what you must do, Bilbo. You should carry on exactly as you have before today. You don't have to spy on anyone, we don't need you to. The only thing we want from you is quite simple. If we ever get into that mountain, if we conquer the dragon and you should happen upon the Arkenstone before we do… or before the Dwarves do… then you must bring it to us. Immediately, if you wish to avoid any unpleasantness."

"And if Thorin finds the Arkenstone first? What then?"

"Hmm… we'll see, if it ever comes to it. But if would be preferable if he did not. Understood?"

Shaking his head, Bilbo sighed. Unfortunately for him, he understood all too well.

"I don't really have a choice about all this, do I?" he asked after a long pause.

"No, you do not," Fëanor admitted bluntly.

"And there is nobody I can go to for help if I want to stop you?"

"It is brave of you to even think it," Fëanor said appreciatively. "But no, there isn't anybody. You should know that we are answerable to nobody but ourselves."

"If you are thinking of Gandalf, perhaps, spare yourself the disappointment. Gandalf is the one who welcomed us back into this world. Before he was sent here, he was our friend and companion in the Halls of Waiting. Gandalf, you should know, is one of the Powers himself, of lesser might but greater wisdom than most. He knows our purposes and wishes to avoid any… unnecessary complications as much as you do," Celegorm explained, dashing the faint hopes Bilbo might have had about the old wizard. "Elrond is family and some of his household are our people. His chief advisor, Erestor, for example. He was father's student in Valinor."

"And a fine student at that," Fëanor said.

"Imladris is with us, Bilbo. It is our new home. Although I am still mystified that Glorfindel made up such a brilliant backstory for us, all on his own. However did you talk him into it, father?" Caranthir smirked appreciatively.

"Oh, Glorfindel is a hopeless good guy. He simply thinks that if he's gotten a second chance, we deserve one as well. And he's right," Fëanor shrugged.

There must have been something in Bilbo's expression that gave his thought away, because Curufin pushed past his brothers and loomed over him once more.

"Don't you even think it, Hobbit! Just now, the Ice Queen of the Golden Wood came into your mind, didn't she?"

Stunned and afraid that they were somehow reading his mind, Bilbo couldn't even babble some form of denial.

"She's not here anymore. She left as soon as the White Council was over. Said she cannot abide long under the same roof as us. But let me warn you, Bilbo Baggins, if you even dream of somehow involving her in our business, I will personally crush her and her nancing little Silvan faeries!" Curufin snarled when Maedhros pulled him back forcefully. "What? Unhand me!"

"That's quite enough, little brother. I think Bilbo has understood you're the villain of this play. Stop it and shut up, for Eru's sake! You're beginning to sound worse than an orc!"

"Somebody has to say these things! Might as well be me. And this way, you can keep your unblemished appearance, brother dearest," Curufin shoved past Maedhros.

Before Bilbo's disbelieving eyes, their father merely rolled his eyes and shook his head tiredly. What a bunch of orcs in Elves's clothing, he thought. But the fact remained, he was surrounded by them and entirely at their mercy. Suddenly, troll dinner no longer held the title of most horrible experience of Bilbo's life.

"Can I…? Excuse me, but… can I leave now? I think you've all made yourselves clear," he plucked up all his courage and asked them.

"Have we, Bilbo?" Fëanor asked. "Are you absolutely certain that we have an understanding? Can you carry on as before and give nothing away?"

"I will try," Bilbo said miserably. "I will try."

"It is for the best. Do not doubt this. And rest assured that we mean you no harm. You might believe this to be a lie, but I have come to appreciate Thorin Oakenshield and I will do all I can for him. He's beginning to trust me and I would appreciate it if you did not interfere with that."

Swallowing the painful lump in his throat, Bilbo agreed. He had no idea how to face Thorin Oakenshield or anyone else in the company without screaming and tearing his hair out. But above all else, he needed to get away from those Elves. He would promise them anything if only they let him be.

"Father, perhaps we should…," Maedhros gave his father a meaningful look . "We've said enough. Why don't we give Bilbo a chance to think about it?"

"You're right. You may go now, Bilbo," Fëanor stepped aside, nonchalantly dismissing him.

Bilbo would have laughed at the insanity of it all, if utter relief hadn't flooded him, making him feel faint.

"I am certain that after careful consideration, you will come to better thoughts about all this. And truly, you needn't fear us. As long as everything goes according to plan, your company will not find better friends than us once we're out in the wild again," Celegorm offered as a parting shot, his charming smile back in place.

Bilbo bit back the reply suddenly bubbling on his lips. He cared enough for his hide to shut his mouth and head for the door. But as he opened it and slipped out, he felt the weight of their eyes on him like eight pairs of daggers at his back and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no escaping them.


	15. Chapter 15

15.

Bilbo sat huddled beneath a statue, arms wrapped around his knees. Somehow, his feet had carried him back to the library. He did not know when or how long he'd been sitting there, but the shadows had grown and light began to fail around him. No one hand been there to mark his passing and if any of the librarians had retuned since, Bilbo hadn't heard them.

He'd wondered the hallways and the paths between houses aimlessly, lost in thought. He'd somehow managed to avoid meeting anyone familiar and dreaded the evening, when he'd be forced to see his friends again. But how to look them in the eye and how to make merry when, Bilbo felt as though the whole world had collapsed atop him?

Never in his life had he felt so small. So utterly small and helpless. It made Bilbo angry as well, furious with himself for being caught in the net of lies and deceit those Elves had set up for Thorin and his company. Frustrated to the point of tears, the Hobbit ached for his home and the blessed peace he'd lived in before that accursed wizard had brought the whole nightmare upon him.

He turned to one unhappy thought after another and could not find any means of escaping the trap he had fallen into. Threats echoed in his mind every time he pondered how to warn Thorin and how to avoid betraying him. Bilbo couldn't understand how a single jewel could spark such madness into so many people and how it could be worth giving one's life for… or taking lives to possess it.

If he had known better, it would have probably been much harder for him to finally give in and put his conscience to sleep. But that did not happen without a long and painful struggle. Bilbo did not decide right away that the lives of his friends were worth more than any jewel and he would do anything to protect them. He could not resign himself to lying all at once. He agonized over his choices for a good long while.

Lost in this miserable state of mind, Bilbo didn't hear footsteps approaching and was startled when someone shook his shoulder insistently.

"What? What is it? What do you want? Oh…," he stammered, eyes widening when he realized a child was trying to get his attention.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to scare you, Sir," the boy said.

Surprised out of his most elementary manners, Bilbo blinked at the child, taking in his appearance. He can't have been more than ten years old, although he was not small or skinny. A mop of wavy brown hair framed the boy's beautiful face but even Bilbo could tell it was not and Elven child.

"Oh…, forgive me. I wasn't paying attention. You didn't scare me… Sorry, I am Bilbo," the Hobbit sat up and greeted the boy properly.

"My name is Estel, Sir," the child bowed very politely, but he was grinning broadly as he straightened himself up. "You're the famous Hobbit!"

"Famous?" Bilbo found himself grinning back. "Well, I wouldn't say… maybe that's because I'm the only one of my kind here."

"No, no, Elladan and Elrohir have told me all about you. They said you have really big and hairy feet!" the boy leaned closer, gawking at the feet in question.

Bilbo shifted uneasily, but then the boy's curiosity won him over.

"Do all the Hobbits have such extraordinary feet?" Estel asked him. He looked as though he wanted to crouch and pet the brown fuzz on Bilbo's feet, but crossed his little hands behind his back instead.

"Indeed they do. It is a very welcome thing too, we never need to wear any shoes."

"Never?!" the boy's eyebrows shot up. "Not even in the winter?"

"Not even then," Bilbo smiled, lifting his foot so that Estel could study it closer.

Feeling his balance waver, Bilbo put a hand on the statue to steady himself. But there was soft fabric beneath his palm and Bilbo's hand slipped, tugging on it.

"Oh, no!" Estel suddenly jumped back, his little eyebrows drawing together.

Something hit the floor with a clang that made both of them wince. Bilbo stepped away from the statue and saw that it was, in fact, a pedestal. Held in a woman's arms, the flat surface had been covered with grey velvet and on it, Bilbo could just glimpse the hilt of a sword, if he raised himself on tiptoes. His clumsiness had ruined the arrangement, though, and the coverlet lay askew.

"We are in trouble. So much trouble," Estel whispered and glanced about himself in obvious distress. He winced when Bilbo picked up a shard of metal that had fallen from the display. "You mustn't touch that."

Bilbo almost let the piece fall.

"It's alright, I don't think it's broken," he said, looking at what appeared to be a piece of sword. "It's not dented, don't worry. We'll put it back and nobody will know."

But Estel wouldn't let him touch the statue, tugging on Bilbo's coat insistently.

"We're not supposed to disturb that. We shouldn't even be here," he whispered urgently. "Elrond-adar says it's a very important artifact."

Bilbo suddenly worried that in his clumsiness, he'd managed to break something of great value.

"Oooh, uncle Erestor is going to be so mad!" Estel said unhappily, making Bilbo want to just grab his hand and make a run for it.

"Esteeel! Where are you, child? Come now, I've no time to play hide-and seek. Show yourself!"

The calls made Estel blanch and tug Bilbo's hand anxiously.

"Is that Glorfindel?"

The boy nodded, but still, he seemed frightened. Before Bilbo could comfort him in any way, the Elf climbed up to them, taking the stairs three and four at a time.

"There you are!" he said to Estel. "What have you… Bilbo?"

Feeling very much like an errant child himself, Bilbo waved uncertainly and remembered he was still holding a piece of the important artifact when Glorfindel's eyes widened.

"Give me that," the Elf practically snatched the shard from Bilbo's hand and rearranged the display carefully. "Estel, what have you done? You know you're not allowed in here on your own."

"Um… it's not the boy's fault. It was me," Bilbo said, taking pity on Estel's miserable expression. "I slipped and then… it was an accident. Nothing is broken, I hope."

"No, nothing is broken," Glorfindel replied and laughed, to Bilbo's surprise. He couldn't see anything funny about it. "It's quite alright. But you, young man," he turned to Estel. "You should be in your chambers, cleaning yourself up and getting ready for dinner. However did you give Erestor the slip?"

Estel worried the sleeves of his shirt with both hands and looked down at his feet, smiling sheepishly.

"You're getting better and better at that each day," the Elf chuckled. He ruffled Estel's hair and patted his shoulder gently. "Run along now, you mustn't be late for dinner."

Estel nodded, smiling broadly.

"It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Bilbo," he said.

"And I am very pleased to meet you too, Estel," the Hobbit replied. "I hope I shall see you again soon."

The boy nodded enthusiastically and then sped down the stairs, happily ignoring Glorfindel's advice to slow down.

"What a lovely child," Bilbo smiled after him.

"Yes he is. Estel is Lord Elrond's foster-son. A child of the Dúnedain that we are bringing up here in Rivendell."

Bilbo said nothing, unsure who the Dúnedain were and not wishing to appear ignorant. His eyes fell on the statue and curiosity won over his previous embarrassment.

"I didn't mean to disturb this display. May I ask what it is? I could glimpse the hilt of a sword but it's too high for me to see properly."

"Yes, it is a sword. A very important sword. We seem to have a lot of those, don't we?" Glorfindel said.

Something in his voice made Bilbo turn his attention back to the Elf. He saw that Glorfindel's usually open face had clouded over and with that, Bilbo's troubles returned to the forefront of his mind full force. Estel had made him forget for a moment, but there stood Glorfindel, towering over him with unreadable eyes.

"My Lord," Bilbo sighed. "May I also be excused?"

"One moment, Bilbo. I wish to speak with you."

"Of course."

"I believe you know about what."

"I do, my Lord. And I would ask you to say nothing. I do not think I can bear anymore threats, be they veiled our outright. I understand perfectly what my position is," Bilbo steeled himself and refused to take anymore pressure. He'd had enough for one day.

"Bilbo," the Elf sighed. "I do not know what Fëanáro has said to you, but I am sorry about it."

'Then do something!' Bilbo wanted to scream. Instead, he eyed the Elf warily, waiting to see what Glorfindel wanted from him.

"I wish you were not caught between the ambitious of all those great people. It saddens me to see you so defeated."

"Why do you help them?" Bilbo snapped, infuriated by the false compassion in the Elf's words. "Why do you lie for them?!"

"It is not in our nature to lie or twist the truth," Glorfindel said. "But sometimes we must. Sometimes we have no choice. But I do not lie for fear of Fëanáro and his sons."

"No, you are their friend. You're all the same," Bilbo muttered.

"You're right," Glorfindel admitted sadly. "We are. And I _was_ their friend, long ago."

"But they betrayed you!"

"I betrayed them first! Fëanáro should have been my king, but my House served his half-brother and so, when we set out into the world, I followed the wrong king. For hundreds of years, I sat idle in Gondolin while _they_ defended the lands and defied the Enemy. This, now, protecting their identity because they need me to, is but small payment for my past mistakes."

Taken aback, Bilbo had no reply for Glorfindel's speech. They stood in uncomfortable silence for a few moments.

"I wanted you to know that I do not lie for the sport of it. That is all," the Elf said at last.

"I understand," Bilbo himself lied, stepping away slowly.

"I suppose you shall not be wanting to continue our fencing practice."

Already at the top of the stairs, Bilbo caught the railing with one hand and turned to face Glorfindel.

"No, my Lord. If it still pleases you, I wish to continue. Now, more than ever, I am convinced I will have need of my sword."

"Very well, then. I will see you tomorrow, at the appointed hour."

If Bilbo's resolve surprised Glorfindel, he did not show it and the Hobbit walked away, wishing nothing to do with Elves anymore, if it were possible. Unfortunately, it was not.

Bilbo sought some refuge in his own room, but there was no peace to be had in there either. Ori poked his head through the curtains, calling Bilbo out on the balcony where the whole company had been assembled to see something marvelous.

Pushing back his anxiety and schooling his face into what he hoped would pass for interest, Bilbo followed the Dwarf and saw the others gathered in a circle around Thorin and… Fëanor. Bilbo bit his lip hard and it took all his strength just to put one foot in front of the other when the Elf's eyes fell on him.

But Fëanor was busy speaking to the Dwarves and spared Bilbo no more than a cursory glance. He and Thorin had unveiled their common project and even Bilbo had to admit, it was a beautiful statue. Their rendition of the dragon had taken them many days to work on and Thorin's attitude toward the Elf had gradually improved. Just as Fëanor had said, there seemed to be a tentative friendship between the two of them and Bilbo smiled bitterly. He pitied Thorin where but a day before, he would have rejoiced.

Still, he could give nothing away, so Bilbo oooh-ed and aaah-ed in all the right places, circling the miniature dragon and touching the delicate patterns etched into its golden skin. How much bigger was the real Smaug and how did the makers of his imitation purpose to kill him? Neither of them appeared particularly concerned about it for once. Fëanor was talking about amber for the beast's eyes and Thorin about engraving and then Nori said something Bilbo didn't catch and suddenly, they were all laughing. Fëanor clasped Thorin's shoulder and the Dwarf didn't immediately reach for a weapon, looking up at the Elf and laughing instead.

Bilbo turned on his heels and ran away from the nightmare. It wasn't happening. It just wasn't happening.


	16. Chapter 16

**16.**

To Bilbo's great sadness, Midsummer's Day was only hours away. He'd gone through the last days of his stay in Rivendell with mounting anxiety, completely unprepared to set out into the wild once more. Although he had pulled back the curtain of Elvish perfection and he'd seen the shadows beneath, still, Bilbo loved their tranquil home and would always long for the loveliness of it. Having to organize his belongings and plan ahead for weeks, perhaps months of scant provisions and life on the road only deepened the Hobbit's gloomy mood.

He was called to assist the second reading of Thorin's map, with Balin and Gandalf there, as before. Lord Elrond took them to a spectacular cave, curtained by a waterfall and there, beneath the right kind of moonlight, Thror's map revealed its final clue. It set Thorin in motion, almost bringing him back to life after so many days of self-imposed patience and restraint.

The night was growing late, but no one in the company slept. They were busy with the last arrangements for departure, packing heavy bags that Bilbo wondered how anyone could possibly carry. Especially since the route Thorin had chosen at Gandalf's and Lord Elrond's advice would be uphill and over the High Pass. But he had learned some things about the strength and stamina of Dwarves, which only made Hobbit sorry for his own poor feet.

While the others were bustling about, Thorin had pulled the table in his room out on the balcony and sat with Balin there. Dwalin leaned against the railing, arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown on his scarred face. His eyes did not stray from the two Elves seated across from Thorin. Dwalin had still not come to terms with Thorin's change of heart and he still regarded Fëanor with a great deal of suspicion.

It gave Bilbo a modicum of hope as he went to stand by the warrior's side, although Dwalin barely acknowledged him and didn't care much for the little, defenseless Hobbit. It had hurt Bilbo at first, but he had also learned that under Dwalin's gruff exterior, there was a heart of gold and Thorin could not wish for a more loyal and a more protective friend. Bilbo resolved to steel himself against Dwalin's reproachful looks and keep close to him when they set out on their journey.

"As you know, we are leaving Rivendell tomorrow," Thorin was telling Fëanor and his eldest son. "Do you still mean to follow us?"

The Elves nodded.

"There is no way to dissuade you from this?"

Father and son shared a small smile and shook their heads.

"And they yell at me for the stubbornness of Dwarves?" Thorin grumbled, but there was no anger in his eyes.

"You may have found your match in that respect," Fëanor laughed.

"Undoubtedly. Well, then… Since you mean to stalk our company no matter what I say, we might as well do this right. But first, you must be truthful with me," Thorin said.

Fëanor nodded in agreement.

"I have been trying to pry it out of you for weeks now, but to no avail," Thorin shook his head at the Elf. "The debt that you and yours owe, you must be truthful about that if I am to accept you as our companions in this quest."

Father and son exchanged a brief look and Bilbo bit back a scream. They were going to spout more lies and there he stood, bound and gagged by their threats, unable to do anything about it.

"What exactly do you feel you must pay for, possibly with your lives, if you really mean to face the dragon at the end of our journey?" Thorin insisted.

"Blood, Thorin. We must pay for blood, with our own, if need be," Fëanor told him.

"Somehow, I knew you would say that. I had expected some hideous crimes in your past, you have the look of one who's conscience would keep him from rest at night," Thorin closed his eyes and sighed.

Fëanor grimaced, but he did not deny it and Bilbo felt Dwalin shifting at his side, most likely looking for a weapon.

"You are very perceptive, Thorin Oakenshield. And you are right about the hideous crimes. My sons and I… Surely you have heard about how our people fled the Blessed Realm against the will of the gods. And how we need ships to cross the Sea."

"You murdered your own kind for those ships?"

"I'm afraid we did," Fëanor sighed and for a moment, Bilbo thought he would finally speak the truth. "When our host reached the harbor of the Teleri, there was already battle on the piers. Fëanor and his people were manning the ships and fighting off the mariners. When we saw our kinsmen put to death and cast into the Sea, we rushed to their aid and stained our own hands with innocent blood. But we didn't know it at the time, prince Fingon saw only his uncle and his cousins beset and he charged to their rescue without a second thought. We are kinslayers, Thorin. And that is a crime no amount of repentance can ever make up for."

Silence fell over all of them and Bilbo was grateful for the railing at his back. The enormity of what he'd heard made him want to tear his hair out and he clutched the smooth stone so hard his fingers hurt.

"We were cursed after that and the gods fenced their lands against us," Fëanor carried on. "Tears unnumbered we were promised and we shed them. We have been punished, make no mistake, and death was our lot, not merely tears and grief. But even now, after I am reborn and given a second chance, I do not feel that I am done. I would not have been sent back here unless more were expected of me and my sons."

"You crime was that of defending your own people," Thorin said, his eyes searching the Elf's face in an intense scrutiny.

"No, our crime was defending theft and murder."

"But you did not know it. And later, you told me yourself that you were repaid with betrayal."

"That is true. Fëanor betrayed us. Those motherless bastards left us to die on the Grinding Ice."

"Father, I cannot!" Maedhros threw back his chair suddenly. Bilbo watched Fëanor grab his wrist and squeeze it painfully. He saw the younger Elf's jaw clench. "I cannot stay here anymore. There are still things I must see to if we are to be ready for departure."

"Go then," Fëanor said gruffly, releasing him.

Head bowed, Maedhros hurried back into the house.

"Well, Thorin, now you know what our debt is," Fëanor turned his attention back to the Dwarf king.

"Yes," Thorin nodded. "Although I can't say I understand the depth of your sorrow because of it. But how does aiding me lessen the burden?"

"That I do not know myself. Perhaps it is not aiding you, but riding the world of a plague. Your dragon is one of the Enemy's most terrible creations. If I help you destroy it, perhaps part of my duty will be done. Although I know that forgiveness cannot be quantified and bought with good deeds. "

"You may be wrong about that," Thorin said, his eyes lit with sympathy. "We shall see. I cannot stand in the path of your redemption and I find that I no longer want to."

"Thorin," Bilbo saw Balin put a hand on his friend's arm, but Thorin would not let him say anything.

"If you believe that this is what you must do, I cannot tell you otherwise. You would not listen, anyway," the Dwarf gave Fëanor a small smile, prompting him to reach across the table and clasp Thorin's arm.

"We will go with you to the Lonely Mountain and whatever end awaits us there," Fëanor said.

Thorin nodded and returned the clasp, sharing a moment of silent understanding with the Elf. Bilbo's heart sank further than it had ever sunk before and, beneath the smile he'd forced on his face, he wanted to cry.

"Thank you," Fëanor whispered. He cleared his throat and made to sit up, but Thorin motioned him to wait.

"I may rue it later and wonder what possessed me to agree to this, but since we will be travelling together, there are some things I must tell you. You know about my Grandfather's map, do you not?"

"I had hoped you would show it to me," Fëanor said.

Ignoring Balin's second attempt to dissuade him, Thorin brought forth the map and laid it on the table.

"Here it is. I presume you also know I have a key to this secret entrance," Thorin pointed the X marked on the side of the mountain.

Fëanor leaned closer and examined the glowing script at the bottom of the old map. It could still be descried, but faintly and it disappeared completely when a cloud obscured the moon.

"I know about your key, yes," the Elf said.

"Aaaaah, is there nothing safe in this world?" Thorin grumbled. "Not from you, I suppose."

Fëanor smirked but did not look up from the map.

"That script…The moon runes… what do they say?"

"You cannot read them?"

"I'm afraid not."

A small, triumphant smile fleeted across Thorin's face.

"So there _IS _something you do not know! Well, here it is. The moon runes say: _Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the key-hole._"

Fëanor pondered the message for a few moments.

"I am sorry, this is nonsense to me. Is the grey stone some kind of marking for this secret door?"

"I believe so," Thorin nodded.

"But _'when the thrush knocks'_? And when is Durin's Day?"

"Perhaps we can ask your son to catch a thrush and ask it," Thorin said, making the Elf chuckle. "As for Durin's Day… it is the first day of the last moon of Autumn on the threshold of Winter. We still call it Durin's Day when the last moon of Autumn and the sun are in the sky together."

"I see. Well, that is not very specific. It seems you have a riddle on your hands here."

"Perhaps. Durin's Day is less than four months from now. I cannot tell the exact day, but the wizard says there are signs to be read. It is clear to me that we must reach the Lonely Mountain and find the grey stone that marks the door before the sun and the last moon of Autum can both be seen in the sky. We don't have much time left."

"We will get there," Fëanor told him.

"Once we've left the safety of this house, we will venture into the wilderness. It is a perilous road and there will be delays, I am certain. The northern part of the world is not a safe place anymore and you have seen it yourself, we are being hunted."

"All the more reason for us to travel together. You have my word that we will defend you on your travels. Your pride will shout that you not need protection, but if it offers you a speedy passage now, when you say time is short, then it is folly to refuse it," Fëanor said.

"Did you not hear me before?"

"I heard you."

"Then it is agreed. We've no need for further debating. It is already late into the night and we will set out tomorrow at dawn."

"Gandalf will tell you that you will not leave before breakfast and a proper farewell to your hosts," Fëanor left his seat, folding the map and returning it to Thorin.

"And what will you tell me?"

"Just give the word. We are ready."

Thorin looked up at the Elf with a pleased smile.

"Perhaps after breakfast is not an unwelcome suggestion. We still have to present Lord Elrond with our little project, in payment for his hospitality."

"And I assure you, he will treasure it long after the dust has settled on this adventure. But I will leave you now. I too must rest and take counsel with my sons."

Bilbo watched the two bid each other a fair night and then Fëanor left. Heart heavy in his chest, Bilbo could no longer strain himself to smile.

"Come now, Master Burglar," Thorin walked over to him, patting the Hobbit's shoulder. "You needn't look so glum. I know it is difficult for you to leave behind the beauty and the comfort of this place, but take heart. We'll still have some of these Elves with us!"

_And it will be our downfall_, Bilbo would have said, if there were any strength left in him to speak the words.

* * *

**A/N: This story does not stop here, I promise. I know it is a frustrating place to end the first part and the story itself has been going at a very slow pace. There has been too much talk and not enough action, I agree, but I simply could not write it any other way. The characters wanted to be developed, they needed time and many words to explain themselves and show their motivation. Ultimately, _I _needed to make sense of why the Fëanorians, why here and why now. I hope I have provided an explanation that is at least somewhat plausible.**

**I also hope that Thorin's transition from fierce Elf-hater to friend of at least _some_ Elves has not been too quick and jarring. I wish we could have explored the whole bonding process and how Fëanor managed to charm Thorin out of his many prejudices, but alas, Bilbo can't eavesdrop on everything all the time.  
**

**That said, I am plotting and will soon begin to write the second part, titled _"Always trust an Elf"_. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me for the duration of this story, for all the wonderful reviews and I invite you to keep following the adventures of our extended company.**


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